


Resurrection

by SunnseanicArts



Series: Arrows and Bullets [4]
Category: Boondock Saints (Movies), Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Brother Feels, Complicated Family Reunion, Depression, Head Injury, Hinted Past Sexual Abuse, Immunity, Jealousy, M/M, Memory Loss, Mild slash, Murder, Nightmares, Past Abuse, Possessive Behavior, Shippy, Slightly Abusive Relationship, Superslow Build, Uber!Protective Connor, Violence, Zombies, long fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:30:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 188,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunnseanicArts/pseuds/SunnseanicArts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the battle at the prison Connor and Daryl sneak out of Woodbury and head for Augusta, to look for answers regarding Connor's immunity. The lab is a dead end, but they discover the shocking truth about Connor's brother. Daryl is still trying to cope with Merle's death. And Connor gets more than he asked for. Set in Augusta, Savannah and Woodbury.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Interstate

**Author's Note:**

> My own storyline. No real canon warnings. It's based on some stuff that happened in previous fics.  
> Can still be read as standalone if you don't mind missing further information.
> 
> Mild slash, no _proper_ sexual encounters. Plot heavy. Angst. Tension (both horror and sexual ;D)
> 
> set between Walking Dead seasons 3 and 4

 

**July 28th, 2008 - in a city that is miles away...**

The stranger opened his eyes with a croaky groan. This was the third time in a row that he was waking up, and although he really doubted that he was going to make it this time he still tried to get back up. He wasn't really functioning anymore because his body - especially his head- was burning with pain, but after waking up so many times already he was actually getting used to it. The stranger groaned under the sheer weight of his own body as he tried to lift himself up, and he nearly slipped in the pool of blood underneath him.

 _Oh great, so he had lost a lot of blood. The very thing that got these filthy dead fucks all excited._ The man managed to get up after a couple of tries but it felt like his head could explode, and when he felt it he noticed the damage. It was a sheer miracle that he could even walk! He stumbled around, face caked with crusts of dried blood and eyes watering because of the sharp pain.  
  
His clothes were practically soaked from the amount of blood he had lost, but there was something inside of him that kept him going, like a rusty engine that was being operated by an external force. Something he couldn't see or couldn't remember, he only knew that it was there, that he needed to find out what it was, that he needed to find it. Whatever it was. And whatever the fuck was going on.

The stranger tried to keep himself together as he staggered around the filthy room. He couldn't even remember how he had ended up here, the last thing he remembered was a sharp pain in his upper body and his head. Some bastard must've jumped him from behind while he had been fighting these undead fucks. Oh he couldn't wait to find that sneaky bastard. He automatically reached for his weapons and cursed. Of course. Nobody jumped anyone for nothing these days. Whoever had attacked him and injured him like that had taken everything useful with them. He didn't have anything in here. It was just him. In an empty, dirty room.

The stranger staggered in the direction of what he believed had used to be a kitchen, but couldn't really find much apart from a couple of old and filthy rags. He knew that he couldn't keep it around his wounds forever, but he needed something to stop the red fluid from oozing out of his head and running down his face, which made it even harder for him to see. The man wrapped two of the rags around his head and hissed. It felt like it had been cracked wide open. He supposed that someone had used the back of their gun to knock him out and strip him clean. Or maybe even a dull machete, judging by the other aching wound on his back and shoulder.

As soon as he was done with the bandaging process the stranger needed a moment to gather himself, because he was close to fainting again.

 _No. Not now. You stop that shit you pussy. You get back on your feet and you get your ass outta here h_ e told himself and squeezed his eyes shut.  
When he opened them again he could see how his blood was dripping down on the thing that had used to be a kitchen counter.

 _Hospital. You need to get to a fucking hospital,_ he told himself and shook his head. _No, that's pointless. There are no hospitals. They're all overrun._  
The stranger groaned because of the pain in his head and pulled his dirty hair. He needed to _focus focus focus_ or else he wasn't going to make it. He turned around to have a look outside the window, careful not to attract any walkers to his location. He knew they were outside, he was in a fucking city. Cities were crowded with these undead creatures. He'd had to learn that the hard way.  
  
He swallowed hard as he felt a sudden pain in his chest, one that wasn't coming from his wounds. He had lost someone to them. He knew that now. Not just one. Many people actually. He only remembered bits and pieces, but he knew that there had been a woman and a kid. He remembered screams and pain and how he had been screaming and yelling for them to stop, but he had lost the fight. The worst part was that he couldn't really remember who they had been, but judging by the incredible loss that he felt he was pretty sure that this had been **his kid and his wife**. It had to be.

Which would also explain why he felt so much hatred for these undead pricks who had taken so much from him. He still didn't know what was driving him now. He knew he still needed to find something. This had been the very reason why he had traveled here. Whatever it was, he needed to find it. Or them. Yes, _them_ felt good, actually. He needed to get out of here and find _them_. Find the great solution to everything, those that could save him. He remembered getting here in a car. Maybe that was the thing he was searching now.  
  
But when he had a look outside and searched the streets he didn't recognize any of the crashed vehicles as his own. He only saw the harbour. The bridge. The undead. Just the undead and him. And his grumbling stomach told him that they weren't the only ones hungry here. It took the stranger another couple of minutes to gather himself, but after staggering around and leaning against walls for a little while longer he finally staggered in the direction of the door that led out of this godforsaken and bloody room. He just needed to get out of here, and he needed to find _them_ to save himself from certain death.

* * *

_**332 Days later** _

**June 24th, 2009 - Interstate 20, Lake Oconee**

Connor was leaning against the passenger door of the old 1970 Ford pickup truck they had stolen back in Woodbury. He took another drag on his (second) cigarette and looked up at the sky with a slight smile on his face. It was a beautiful day really, and it was so freaking hot and sunny that even with his thin shirt and trousers he was actually sweating his ass off. He considered getting rid of his shirt but figured that this wasn't a good idea because a) it didn't take much to give him a sunburn and b) he was wearing sunglasses already and he didn't want to seem too tourist-y.  
  
Not with all the broken down cars, shoes, clothes and bodies all around him. But still. They were far too used to this new look of everything, the decay and rotting of bodies and things that he didn't even mind. He didn't even see it anymore in fact. What he did see though, was the beautiful lake they could see from both sides of the bridge. Well _he_ thought that it was beautiful at least. He even kind of wanted to jump in there if he was honest, simply because the sweat kept running down his body and drenched his clothes more and more.

"Mind helping me yah fuckin ass?" he heard an angry growl and was snapped out of his secret little holiday on the lake.

Oh.  
Daryl.  
Interstate.  
Broken down truck.  
Dead people walking around.  
The end of the world.  
Right.

The Irishman cleared his throat and threw his cigarette away, but the smile on his face wouldn't go away.  
Because Daryl being his usual grumpy self right now he actually enjoyed their time together. On a lake.

Sunshine sunshine sunshine.

"Well it was yer idea ta take this piece of crap. I told yah it ain't gonna do shit til Augusta" Connor muttered as he walked to the front of the car, where Daryl was still trying to do something about their smoking engine.

"It ain't no piece of crap. Had one just like that, and it was doin just fine. You don't know nothing" Daryl growled and hissed when he burned his finger on the hot engine.

"Ow, fuck! This is all your fault you stupid moron" he complained and then shoved Connor while shaking his hand in pain.

His friend giggled as soon as he was shoved away, because what kind of friend would he be if he weren't mischievous?

"No, it ain't my fault. Cos all 'm seeing is a fuckin hillbilly trying ta sugarcoat te fact that his hillbilly car is a piece'a crap. Just look at all those cars around us" the older of the two friends said and pointed at the huge traffic jam on the other side of the interstate.

"Great modern cars. With aircons and shit. You know there's something like air conditioning? You know, those thingies that make yer hot redneck air all cool?  
We could use one of those."

Connor grinned when Daryl gave him one of his extra- pissed looks again.

"Like you know shit 'bout cars. What kinda ride did you have in leprechaun-land then? You take a couple of cows and ran on potato juice and whiskey?"

Connor hit his shoulder with a snort and tried to take a closer look at the engine as well.

"Don't be ridiculous. We had some real horsepower."

There was a pause as Daryl folded his arms with a frown and waited for his friend to carry on. Connor tried moving a couple of hoses and burned his fingers as well, and truth was that he didn't have a clue about that stuff at all. He looked at his dirty hands and then pressed them to Daryl's chest to clean them on his sweaty and dirty shirt.

"Real classic ride that was" he said as Daryl fought his hands with an annoyed growl and looked down on himself where Connor had smudged his shirt with oil and dirt.

When he looked up again he was just about to complain, but the grin on Connor's face kept him from doing that because he knew that this was the part where his friend would say one of his stupid punchlines.

"1994 Cheezo. Brown. Irish. Draught horse" he said and started laughing, because he obviously thought that Daryl had thought that he had been talking about a car.

 _Yeah. Right._ Because he was _that_ stupid.

He had known right away. He knew about Cheezo or whatever the fuck that stupid horse was called. Because Connor still wouldn't shut up about his past, Ireland, and every last detail he had ever seen, heard, owned or wanted. He let his friend think that he was the most hilarious clown on this planet though, although he really wasn't. Daryl just shook his head and got back to the fucked up engine.

"Ferget it, that thing is fucked. 'm gonna go and look fer a decent car" Connor announced and hit his back, and even now he wouldn't stop laughing.

 _Idiot_ , Daryl thought but couldn't fight a tiny smile either, because deep down underneath all the fucked up things he was feeling right now he actually acknowledge the fact that his friend was like that now. He hated to think about the past more than anything now, and there were certain things about their post-apocalypse past that he chose to forget completely, but he had to think about one part he didn't want to forget. Never ever. And that was the part when he had first met that stupid Irish clown, the first couple of days and how that had been, how he had looked, what he had said and how he had acted.

He remembered the beard and filthy hair, how Connor had been all skin and bones, how he had been hanging from a beam with a rope around his neck and how empty and quiet his voice had sounded, and even now he had to think about his almost dead and hunted eyes. He remembered that very first day when that guy had been kneeling in that church, all depressed, suicidal and broken. The hunter wiped some sweat off his forehead and turned his head to look at his friend as he was now. Connor was walking away from their car and heading for the other side of the interstate to take a look at the cars. And he was still laughing and talking to himself, that idiot.

The long hair and long beard was long since gone, one could see that he actually had an ass in his trousers and that his legs weren't just bones but actual legs. Connor was far from skinny now, he had gained quite some muscles even, when they had been using the tiny gym back at Woodbury. Now they were almost at the same level when it came to arm muscles, so no more skinniness, no more eating and sleeping disorders because of his fucked up mental state after Murphy's death. There was no more crying or whining about, the guy was just one spirited strong bundle of Irish temper and energy.

 _Well at least someone's doin fine_ , Daryl thought and his face fell, when he remembered that he was the one who was far from fine now. He rubbed his nose and turned around again to get back to the car engine, because he wanted to distract himself from the memory that tried to make itself known, despite all his tries to kill it, to bury it deep in his mind like it didn't exist.

There had been many reasons why he had agreed to go to Augusta with Connor. One: He hated their new life in Woodbury. He hated town life, he hated the boredom that it brought after running from undead for almost a year. He remembered what Connor had told him a couple of days ago:

_Blood and killing's just like nicotine in that regard. It's nasty, it kills ye, it's dangerous and ugly, but you can't stop._

Which was reason number two: he needed adventure. he needed the kick. He needed the running and killing. Because he was addicted to that stuff now. Then there was reason number three: he had gone with Connor because he had missed their time on their own like the months they had spent back at the fire station. Before the Governor he'd had a reason to stay at the prison, to be with the group, but now that main reason was gone.  
  
He missed Carol, little asskicker and Rick, but right now they weren't doing him any good. They were making everything worse in fact. Just like this godforsaken Woodbury town. Which was his main reason why he was standing on this very road to Augusta now: He needed the distance. He needed the space. He didn't want to be reminded of anything, he needed a new canvas, a new Polaroid, a new movie to forget all the past shit he had seen.

He automatically moved one hand up to his chest, to the one thing that he couldn't get rid of, the one thing that would be a constant reminder of what had happened. The wound was healing but still hurt, and part of Daryl wasn't even sure if it really were physical pain or just a psychosomatic kind of pain he endured because of the loss he had experienced. Whatever it was, he didn't want to care. Just like the many times before he forced himself not to touch the wound, to pretend that it didn't exist just like all that shit had never happened.

"Fuck me! Look at that!" he heard Connor yell which snapped him out of it.

Daryl turned around to see what was going on, if his friend had encountered walkers. Not that it mattered to them anyway, since the undead still wouldn't attack them. The hunter rolled his eyes when he finally saw what had made Connor curse like that. His friend was standing a bit further away from him, just down the road, where a black car was parked on the grass between the two lanes.

"No way" Daryl growled as he let go of their car engine and slammed the hood shut.

Connor pressed his palms together as if he was praying.

"Please Ma, please. Let me have it. Just fer one day."

Daryl started walking so he could get a better look at the car his friend had chosen. A grim looking black 1968 Ford Mustang hardtop coupe was looking back at him with its round headlights and extra off-road lights that were adjusted to the radiator grille, framing the famous horse emblem.

"No way" the hunter repeated, although he had to admit that the thing looked kind of badass. If you liked that kind of thing. Which he didn't.  
Nope. Not at all.

Connor rolled his eyes and opened the driver's door, actually being glad that there was no corpse in there that had been rotting and boiling in the hot Georgian sun for the past couple of months. The interior was still freaking hot, but he didn't care. He liked the thing. End of discussion.

"No, we don't need shit like that. What are yah, some sorta diva? First yer complaining about shit like how we don't have aircon and how loud the fucking truck is, and the next thing I know is that you wanna drive around in a...thing like that? You got any idea how much fuel that shit needs? You got any idea how noisy that is? Might as well steal a fucking fire truck and use the siren t'let every last walker and thug know we're here."

Connor snorted and searched the inside of the car for anything useful.

"Yeah, says Mr fucking nazi motorbike and pickup truck" he muttered and tried to hotwire the car because he couldn't find any keys. Hotwiring. Another thing the apocalypse had really taught him. Back in the old days they'd had friends like Rocco to do that sort of shit. Time's changed. From a mafioso killing saint to a grenade throwing car thief. Ha. He wanted to laugh out loud, but he actually didn't even give a shit any longer.

"Screw you" Daryl muttered because he hated the mention of said bike, that was still back in Woodbury. He had decided not to take it on purpose. And that not just because there was no way Connor was going to sit behind him during the entire ride to Augusta. The hunter still sighed in defeat and turned around to get to their old smoking truck so he could get their things.  
  
He knew Connor all too well by now, that his friend was so freakishly stubborn sometimes that it was absolutely ridiculous. He knew his friend wanted this car and that he wanted to play boss for a while, and he was too exhausted, upset and fried from the sun to care. He was searching the old pickup for their stuff when he heard the loud roaring of a V8 engine. A second later he heard Connor cheer, which made him roll his eyes yet again.

 _Great. This was going to be a_ long _ride._

After moving stuff and arguing a little bit more just for the fun of it both men finally managed to get the car off the green strip and back on the road, and it went without saying that Connor was the one to drive the car. "Don't crash that thing again" the hunter said and chuckled, still aiming for the car crash Connor'd had the year before. The Irishman just snorted and turned the engine back on. " Who lost control and hit a fuckin tree with three people still inside, dumbass" the Irishman countered and the topic was done.

Daryl had to agree that it was a bit more comfortable compared to the filthy worn out seats in the old Ford pickup, but he still tried to act like he didn't care. Be his old grumpy self, although it was quite hard to do so since Connor's cheery behavior was contagious. It had been too long since they both had the opportunity to be happy about something, whether it had been a movie, a shower, something nice to eat, electricity or now a car. But he didn't want to be so obvious about the fact that he actually enjoyed the car trip with his friend, because no matter how much he was trying to forget Merle's death, he didn't exactly want to pay him any disrespect.

Being happy and relaxed these days was simply wrong _Too many people had been slaughtered and died, because they both had lost so much and been hurt so badly, because there were dead people walking all around them and shit got worse and worse. So why should he be happy?_ Connor played around with the accelerator for a bit, speed down the bridge and then stopped abruptly to test the car, and it was more than obvious that he enjoyed himself very much. Daryl let him do that for a bit, but then he was getting sick of the abrupt movements.

"How 'bout yah get going, dumbass. Ain't got another year to get to this goddamn city" he complained but immediately regretted his extremely bitchy behavior today. He blamed it on the hot temperatures and sun. Connor chuckled quietly and adjusted the rearview mirror.

"Alright, Ma. Alright" he answered and then turned on the radio.

There were a couple of tunes from a guitar and Daryl immediately switched the thing off. This was another new thing they had going now. Connor liked to listen to music when they were driving around. Daryl thought that it was pointless and distracting them from more important things like watching out for stray walkers.

"Fuck you" Connor retorted and turned the radio back on.

The turning on and off went on for about five tries each until Daryl finally let his friend win. He tried to stay grumpy on the outside, but inside he was chuckling to himself because now he had infected Connor with his grumpiness and the Irishman stopped acting like a 12 year old on drugs. They finally drove on, and the tape kept playing. They were driving past another huge traffic jam where an 18-wheeler had turned over and ripped the left side of the interstate open when Connor started humming along to the song.

 _When I die and they lay me to rest_  
_Gonna go to the place that's the best_  
_When I lay me down to die_  
_Goin' up to the spirit in the sky_  
_Goin' up to the spirit in the sky_ _  
_ _That's where I'm gonna go when I die_

He slowed down when he noticed a small herd of walkers behind the truck. He whistled along to the tune and moved the car over to the walkers.

"When I die and they lay me to rest. Gonna go to the place that's the _**best**_ " he sang in unison with the singer and ran two walkers over, who hit the hood of the car right when the line ended with "the best". The walkers let out an abrupt groan and flew all the way across their car, until they fell back down on the road right behind them.

"Prepare yourself you know it's a must. Gotta have a friend in _Jesus_. So you know that when you die..." Connor kept singing and hit reverse so he could hit the same walkers again. The car shook violently as they ran over the bodies and smashed their heads to a disgusting black track of blood and skull pieces on the asphalt.

"He's gonna recommend you to the spirit in the sky" Connor finished the line with an ubercheery tune and then put in first gear again so they could drive away. Although Daryl didn't want to he still had to chuckle because he thought it was funny. He hated the walkers just as much as Connor, who was now stroking the dashboard with a chuckle.

"Just look at this cute little monster right here. I knew that was gonna eat those dead fucks when I saw that evil front. That's a walker killer that is" he announced and accelerated again, because he had run over enough walkers. They were now speeding down the interstate with both their windows down. And as Daryl stared out of the window and watched the lake and trees pass by he couldn't help but feel free for pretty much the first time in his life.  
  
There was nothing left, no authority, no speed limit, no rules, the walkers were no threat to them anymore and they were capable of killing everyone who got in their way. Now there was just them, the car, the interstate, some shitty music and the wind. New memories. Good memories he could use to cancel out the old ones. Except that there was still a hole in his chest (apart from the obvious bullet hole), a hole that even all that happy shit couldn't fill, no matter how hard he tried.

"Never been a sinner I never sinned, I got a friend in Jesus " Connor roared next to him and hit his chest.

Daryl had to roll his eyes because of that Jesus line, but his friend wouldn't let him speak because he spoke up first.

"Come on, you gotta sing the chick's part" he said and kept hitting Daryl's chest, which made the hunter snort.

"I ain't the one with no balls in his pants" he retorted which made Connor grin.

"Oh, now she's interested in my balls. Interesting" he answered and laughed. Just like any time he said shit like that Daryl just grumbled and turned his head, having no clue what he was supposed to say to that. But Connor didn't seem to mind the lack of an answer, because he started singing again.

"So you know that when I die , he's gonna set me up with, the spirit in the sky, Oh set me up with the spirit in the sky.  
That's where I'm gonna go when I die. When I die and they lay me to rest. I'm gonna go to the place that's the best"

"Except you're not" Daryl grunted when they drove past a lonely walker that was staggering down the interstate, not going anywhere, just walking, staggering around with no soul, destination, no sky to look forward to, no nothing.


	2. Sunset

**July 29th, 2008, 7:34 am - in a city that is miles away...**

This was the second time in a row now. The second time that he woke up and couldn't remember how the _fuck_ he had managed to get here. The stranger stared straight up in confusion, and it took him a moment to realize that he was staring at some sort of round metal roof. There were the typical army colors all around him, and when he moved he also noticed that cuffs to his left wrist kept him from getting up. The stranger panicked and started to struggle, which caused the metal of the cuff to hit the metal pole with a rhythmic _clonk clonk clonk_.

"The fuck's this?!" he grunted, voice sounding like he was drunk because of his various injuries. It felt like he had been drugged, which freaked him out even more. The stranger struggled even more but made more noise by default, and it didn't take long until someone walked over to him to see what was going on.

"You're awake" a wise looking muscled African-American man in an US-Army uniform noticed.

"Where the fuck am I and what's going on?!" the stranger complained and tried to use his other hand to free himself, only to discover that it was cuffed as well. He started struggling and kicking as hard as he could. He didn't want to be trapped during times like these when there were dead people walking around and other freaks used the opportunity to jump on you and knocked you out cold to steal your stuff. The soldier looked down on him but would neither touch nor free the stranger.

"You've managed to get to Hanscom Air Force base. You crashed your car into one of our fences and injured two of our men. You were already inside our post when we noticed your bite wound. We almost shot you. Again, by the looks of it" the soldier stated and pointed at the stranger's head. "But our doctors wanted to keep you just like..others. We took you in and took care of your injuries. You've suffered a head trauma from the shot wound, but it was quite the lucky hit."

The stranger widened his eyes and tried to touch his head to check it, but since both his hands were cuffed he couldn't do anything about it.  
He believed to feel a pressure bandage and some stitches. He frowned and hissed because of the pain it caused, and on top of that he was very confused.

_Shot?_ _He had no idea he had been shot. He had thought that someone had just knocked him out._

It made him even more angry.

 _So these little slimy fucks had really shot him and stolen his weapons. What if they had even used his own gun to shoot him?_  
Oh someone needed to pay for that.  
  
"I'm Major Simmons, head of this temporary army base and refugee center and you happen to be the very first case of immunity we have come across so far."

The stranger glared at the Major then, seemingly even more confused now.

 _First the shot and now freaking immunity?_ He didn't understand anything base or not, for some reason he didn't trust the man. Especially since he knew that he was some sort of official authority. It twisted something in his guts and told him to run run run, away from these people, away from being locked up without any sort of freedom.

"Why don't you just uncuff me, so we can shake hands and introduce ourselves the proper way, Major?" he snarled and shook the cuffs once more, but the other man just smirked and him.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Mr...?"

He cocked his head as if he was awaiting an answer from the stranger, who just looked back at the man, mind going blank. The cuffed prisoner suddenly realized that he didn't even remember his own name, just like so many things he couldn't remember. He scowled at the Major and let his gaze wander for a bit. He could finally make out that he was being held inside some sort of hangar. He could see the air field and abandoned planes and helicopters and military cars through the window, and there were _many_ military men walking around the property.

He couldn't really see any civilians but assumed that they were inside the large building somewhere opposite this building, and judging by all the cars and military presence all around him it didn't exactly look he was going to be allowed anywhere near anyone soon. After frantically trying to remember his name but failing to do so he did the only other thing he could. Lie. He didn't want to look like a victim who had lost his stupid memory. No, he needed to seem like a strong and independent man who didn't take shit from anyone.

"McGillan. D..David McGillan" he muttered and stared at the Major, trying to look convinced and indifferent to any threats.

The major gave him a slight smirk, and despite _David's_ tries he still seemed to see right through the lie. The stranger still nodded stubbornly, trying to convince himself at least. _Yes. This had to be his name. It was the first name he had thought of, so this had to be his name. He was David now. David sounded right. He was David McGillan, who had lost his wife and daughter and who had been ambushed, bitten and shot soon after that._ And despite the fact that the Major saw right through him the army man suddenly turned around with both his arms folded behind his back and wandered off.

"Very well then, Mr McGillan. We've got lots of plans for you."

* * *

**_331 Days later..._ **

**June 24th, 2009 -9:28pm, Lake Oconee**

"You gotta be fuckin kidding me" Connor said and stared at the dead end right in front of them.

He rested both his arms on the steering wheel, mouth just a little bit open because he couldn't understand what the fuck he was seeing.

"Well I told you t'use the other exit, dumbass!" Daryl complained right next to him and hit the back of Connor's head.

Both men were still sitting inside the black Ford Mustang they had found on the interstate, facing...the lake. The Irishman turned around to look back, because this couldn't be fucking happening. He knew exactly where they were going. Go left, then right, then double left and right to get back to the interstate. But for some weird reason they weren't back on the interstate, but in the middle of fucking nowhere. He hit the head rest and cursed. They could see trees, boat houses and water all around them, but no fucking interstate or any sort of sign that told them that they were heading for Augusta.

"Well and I told ye that the map said something fucking different. It can't be that fuckin hard ta drive round a fucking traffic jam ta get back on the highway" the older of the two friends snapped back and put the car in reverse so they wouldn't end up driving right into the lake like that.

"Told you to turn this car around and..."

"So what do ye want me ta fuckin do about it? This car ain't a fuckin DeLorean. I can't travel back in time with that thing and do something different" Connor interrupted his friend with an annoyed eyeroll and Daryl folded his arms and just shrugged. He knew the way out of this mess, and he also knew that it was pointless to try and argue with his friend. They were worse than a married couple in that regard, and they both knew it. Connor grabbed the steering wheel to turn the car around.

"Point is that we took the wrong fucking turning and now we're still driving around this fuckin lake. Guess our little three hour drive ta Augusta turned into a fucking Odysee. Sooner or later we'll get there. Eventually. Probably" he muttered and already wanted to drive back down the road, but Daryl moved and grabbed his friend's wrist to stop him.

Connor looked back at the hunter with an angry frown, because he was seriously getting pissed by now. This whole trip annoyed him, this lake annoyed him, the heat and Daryl's bitchy attitude today. He wanted to say something, but Daryl glared at him and shook his head.

"Sun's gonna be down soon. Ain't no point in driving around in the dark like that when we can't even find shit in broad daylight."

Connor looked out of the car and up to the sky. Daryl kind of had a point. He could see how the sun was setting already, painting the sky golden and red. It wouldn't take too long and there would be night, and although the walkers technically didn't attack them he didn't exactly fancy staying outside with no real cover. He chewed on his lower lip and let out a gentle sigh.

"Fuck" he muttered and rested his arms on the steering wheel again.

He had been running on adrenaline and sheer excitement ever since they had snuck out of Woodbury, but with all the driving around and getting angry he had to admit that he was getting tired. Daryl had a look around them and then pointed at one of the many lonely houses that were popping out of the woods all around the lake. They were a bit further away from towns or villages, since they could see two of these on the other side of the lake. They were on the side where most people had built their summer residences, which meant no dense population - not much too loot - not many looters and thugs - not many walkers.

Of course, it would be way easier to either keep driving and take sleeping turns or to camp in the woods somewhere, but Daryl was just feed up with the whole driving around and doing shit wrong by now. So he pointed at the abandoned house that was closest to them and shrugged.

"Let's move over there. Stay there for the night, next thing in the morning we're gonna go and head for this freaking lab or whatever it is."

Connor eyed the house and started chewing on his left thumbnail.

"You sure? Or we could just drive in shifts."

Daryl raised an eyebrow at his friend.

"And make our way through Augusta in complete fuckin darkness? Ain't no way. Move."

His friend just sat there, staring at the house, lost in thoughts. He seemed to be unsure, like he still really wanted to prove his friend that he was right and knew what the fuck he was doing on the road with this car.

"Connor" Daryl warned him and the Irishman growled. He put the engine back on and put in first gear.

"Alright, bitchy. Let's crash fer the night."

* * *

As soon as they got closer to the house Daryl automatically drew his gun, since his large crossbow was rather impractial inside the car. They still had both their windows down, so it was easier for them to hear any strange noises apart from the noise the V8 engine of the Mustang was making. It weren't exactly the walkers they were cautious of, although there were a couple of those staggering around the lonely street that snuck its way all around the lake, surrounded by trees on the right side, and the lake and the houses on the other side.

The good part about the whole thing really was the fact that there were so many trees and water all around them because they were hidden from plain sight and the whole thing muffled the noise they were making, but this also meant that they could neither really see nor hear any enemy. And if they had learned one thing during this past year, then it was the fact that people were the ones you should avoid and be afraid of. It didn't matter if those people were cannibals like the ones they had encountered about two months ago or if they were sickos like the Governor and his followers.

Most of the times other people just meant trouble. No matter what. So both men kept an eye out as they approached the house they had chosen, which happened to be the one at the very end of the road with only one neighboring house to its left. It sure had once been a very beautiful holiday home for a family. In contrast to the other houses it was just a white one story building with a garage and a porch. They could see that it had a landing site just like all the other houses in the area, but there was no boat.

As soon as they were close enough Connor turned the car around once more, so they could approach the garage in reverse. He wanted the vehicle to be ready to go, at least as long as they didn't really know that everything was clear. He kept driving backwards while Daryl kept an eye out and then stopped the car a bit away from the garage.  
  
Connor switched off the engine with a nod and then grabbed his guns as well, and he wouldn't stop eyeing their surroundings in the rearview mirror. Both men were used to the whole procedure by now. Making sure they had something to bail out quick, clear the desired location, clear the area, stay alert, make sure the place was safe. For a moment they just sat inside the car and listened, and then they looked at each other.

"Alright. Same as ever. You take the one side, I take the other. You try t'get inside the garage. I take the usual rooms. Living room. Bathrooms, kitchen. You take the rest. You see a walker, you kill it, somebody attacks you, you put them down" Connor muttered.

Daryl nodded and checked his gun, only to put it away again so he could use his crossbow instead.  
He put an arrow in and looked out of the passenger window to keep an eye on the rest of the neighborhood.

"Standard whistle in case shit goes haywire?"

Connor nodded and made sure his knife was in place and ready to grab.

"Aye. Standard whistle in case shit goes haywire."

They both looked at each other again, adrenaline kick and sick love for situations like this showing.

"Watch your ass" Daryl muttered and nudged his friend's shoulder gently.

"Aye, you, too" Connor answered and placed his hand on his friend's, only to let go so he could get out of the car.

The Irishman couldn't help but nudge the thing as well, because he kind of had to admit that he enjoyed it way more than he should. They had been driving around in a lot of cars during the past year, and even before that he had been no stranger to stolen cars. But he had never been inside such a cool car before. All the others had always been either inconspicious or functional, but never pretty and badass. He turned around and walked backwards, so he could get closer to the house but keep an eye on the woods and surroundings, shooting a silent threat at anyone who could be watching them.

 _Don't you dare steal my fucking car,_ the glare said, then a gentle whistle snapped him out of it.

Connor turned around to see what was going on. He saw Daryl, who had already made his way over to the garage with his crossbow aimed at nothing in particular but ready to shoot. The hunter pointed at his own eyes and then at the large glass door on the side of the building. Since they had been working together for so many months now the Irishman understood the sign right away and switched one of his guns for his knife.

So Daryl had already seen a walker inside the house, and since the hunter wanted to get the garage door open it was on him to clear the building. Connor started jogging without trying to make too much noise, since they still didn't know if there was anyone else inside. He really doubted it by now, but they had learned to never let their guard down. But there were many signs that told him that they were probably alone apart from a couple of walkers.

It was obvious that the house had been looted. That was one thing. Some of the windows were smashed, with the old and dirty curtains swaying in the wind and almost inviting them to get inside. He could see trash, clothes and dirt all around the house, and there were even two or three bodies of walkers. So it was a damn typical abandoned building with no real threat waiting inside.  
  
Because if there really were people in there, then it wouldn't be so unbaricaded and dirty. The Irishman still stayed as quiet and careful as possible and climbed inside through one of the smashed windows. Once again the terrible stench of rotten flesh and food hit him like a fist in his face, but he forced himself to get used to it.

Outside he believed to hear how Daryl was trying to force the creaking garage door open, and the noise also seemed to attract the about two walkers inside the house. The undead creatures were stumbling around the building, running into walls and knocking everything over that was in their way. Connor had entered what looked like a bedroom and saw a female walker with long dirty and filthy blonde hair and a grey blood splattered skirt stagger past the door.

For just a second they had been staring right at each other, and although she had let out a snarl and at least considered attacking him for a moment the undead still walked past the room and headed for the creaking garage door instead.

"Aye sure, go after the uglier one" Connor said and shook his head while taking his knife to go after her.

_Wait, was he actually disappointed and jealous because the female walker didn't go after him but after Daryl instead?_

_I'm much more fuckin delicious anyway_ , he thought as he followed her. _Probably._

Another disgusting wave of the smell of rotting flesh hit him right in the face when he was only inches away from her. He grabbed her by her dirty long hair and yanked her head back to stab it, and let out a disgusted gasp when the stab did not only kill her but also separated half of her head from the rest of her body. Connor was now holding just a chunk of flesh and hair that had used to be a woman's head, and although he had seen way too much gore for the past couple of months it still made him moan. The rest of her body dropped to the ground in front of the Irishman, and caused a black pool of blood on what had once been some very expensive parquet flooring.

"Ew, fuckin disgusting" Connor whispered and pulled a face. The Irishman threw the remains away and wiped his hands on the next closest wall.

_Damn right only a rotten dirty chick like that would go after Daryl and not him._

"No hard feelings" he told the remaining decapitated body and then started walking again, to search the rest of the rooms for walkers or any other threats.

He had to acknowledge the open living room and kitchen/dining area with a whistle, which made the other walker turn around and face him. The undead had once been and old man, maybe at the age of 70 plus, and if it weren't for his ripped out arm and open belly then he almost looked like a normal granddad. A slight wave of sadness and nostalgia rushed over Connor because the man kind of resembled his good old friend Doc. With the grey hair, the glasses, the silly cardigans... Doc McGinty. His favorite pub owner, the one man who had felt like his real father most of the time. _Christ. He had really loved that old fella._

Sometimes he still had to think about all those people he had lost last year, back in Boston. Dear friends like Smecker, Eunice, Dolly, Duffy, Doc, and...well you know who, and he figured that another 10 years could pass and he would never stop mourning their deaths. But that was exactly the point. He knew that it would always hurt, and he didn't want to remember that, so that walker needed to die and disappear, just like all the walkers he had killed before.

For a moment the two of them just looked at each other, the walker obviously confused about his presence and considering whether he should attack him, and Connor being lost in thoughts. Then another loud creaking of the garage door startled them both, and when the old walker snarled and there was red foam forming all around his mouth the Irishman knew that it was his chance to act.

He grabbed his knife just when the walker wanted to start running and threw it at the undead. The blade hit the old man's right temple and threw him against the kitchen furniture. The knife got stuck in the wooden surface of the fridge door and impaled the walker on it, sending blood splatters all the way across the surrounding furniture and kitchen utensils.

Connor sighed and approached his latest kill, regretting that Daryl hadn't been there to witness that. As soon as he had freed his knife the dead old man dropped to the ground, finally at peace. The Irishman stepped out of his way just in time so he wouldn't get his clothes even dirtier than they already were, but froze when he noticed children's drawings all around the kitchen. They were faded, dirty and blood stained, but one could still see what the children had drawn. Yellow suns in corners. Cars, dogs, simple butterflies, the lake and boats, stick figures with the names Jamie, Monica, Andrew, Momma, Daddy.

The blonde MacManus let out a tired sigh and looked down to the old man to his feet. Funny that. He was used to killing walkers and guts and bloods. He even had to admit that he actually enjoyed murdering them. The bloodier, the better. The fact that he had lost count of his murders was reason enough to worry. Just about two hours ago he had been sitting inside his car, wearing sunglasses and thinking about what he'd do to get a cold beer with ice and shit, and how he had thought how fucking happy and relaxed he was. And now he just needed to see some children's drawings and he questioned everything, almost felt ashamed of some of his carefree actions these days.

Sometimes he didn't just miss his friends and family, he also missed their old life, their old society. When houses like this one had been there to bring pleasure, fun and enjoyment, when there were fucking kids running around outside and playing and swimming in the lake.

He walked closer to the large window front that faced lake Oconee. He could see the sunset from here, how it got reflected on the water surface.  
He didn't get shit like that sometimes. The Irishman grabbed his rosary and shook his head.

_Correction, he didn't get -shit-, he didn't get -God-'s plan these days. Very mysterious fucking ways indeed._

He couldn't understand how something as beautiful as this sunset and something as innocent as old children's drawings and wedding photos could exist in a world like this, right next to blood, guts and a fucking ripped out eyeball on the floor.

"Guess we're clear" he heard Daryl say and turned his head.

His friend was standing there in the open entrance hall, face a bit bloody and dirty, but looking just fine.

"Killed a walker inside the garage, no geeks around the property. I moved the car inside the garage and closed the doors. I say we check the two houses next door just to be thorough, then drag out all the bodies and lock them in the shed back there. No need to burn them. Ain't gonna stay here for too long. When we're done we can crash for the night. One keeps watch for a couple of hours, other one takes a nap " he said and entered the kitchen to check the counters for anything useful. But of course, everything was pretty much stripped clean by now. Connor just kept standing in front of the windows and watched the sunset for a bit.

Daryl noticed it after a while and stopped searching drawers to look at his friend.

"You alright?"

Connor shifted and turned around with a shrug.

"Aye. 's just funny how easy it is ta ferget something. Or more like how fast something loses its value."

Daryl raised an eyebrow.

"What you prattlin 'bout?"

Connor looked out of the window again.

"Sunsets I mean. All the shit with the walkers and all the fights and blood kinda makes ye forget that beautiful stuff like that happens every fucking day. And we don't even see it anymore."

Daryl just looked at his friend, not really knowing what he was supposed to say. He still couldn't really see through Connor, when he was having him on or joking or when he was being honest about something. The thoughtful look on the Irishman's face told him that he was being serious though.

"There was a time, many fucking years ago now, when me 'n Murph weren't out drinking in our pub and we'd just take our beers, take two plastic chairs and leave our flat ta sit on top of our apartment building fer a while. We'd just sit there, smoke, drink our beers and watch the sun set in silence. Like, watch it dive down behind those huge fucking skyscrapers like te Pru and the Hancock. 't was our favourite thing ta do when we were really exhausted after doing a couple 'a extra shifts during the first couple of months in Boston. When he had ta get money ta pay some depths with some seriously fucking shady people."

The hunter got back to searching drawers because this was another topic he didn't really like talking about. He knew that Connor was over Murphy, that this wasn't depression but nostalgia speaking, but he still hated it. It made him jealous, and he hated to be reminded that there wasn't just Connor, that he was just the third wheel and that there would always be this freaking Murphy guy, standing right between him and his friend like an invisible brick wall.

"Our Ma always told us that God paints the sky red and golden each sunrise and sunset ta let us know that we're closer ta the gates of heaven than we think. That as long as you see that shit and acknowledge that and its beauty, then it means that there's still hope fer all of us. And heaven and hope is a choice, just like it's your choice ta face and watch the sun set and rise instead of turning yer back on it."

Daryl threw a single can of food he had found in the general direction of their bags on the sofa and sighed.

"Yeah well, as soon as we're done securing everything yah can sit down and tune in t'bible tv and watch yer stupid sunset."

Connor snorted and started dragging the body of the old man towards the window and balcony front.

"Yeah 'f course."

"I'm serious. We can do that" Daryl muttered and grabbed the killed man's legs to help his friend carry the body outside.

Connor looked up and eyed his friend with an unsure frown. Daryl shrugged and avoided direct eye contact.

"If yah wanna. Might even get the chance t'open this bottle we found back when we were just outside Woodbury."

It was one of their many peace offerings and Daryl's apology for his bitchy behavior today. He also just needed a break from everything as well. To calm down and just breathe and live. Maybe he had never been on some Boston rooftop to just watch the sun set without thinking or doing anything, but he had done something similar prior this whole apocalypse thing. Escaping everything. Just being. He had done that during his hunting trips back in the woods in Sedalia. Maybe not to escaping a job but his family. And he kind of missed those moments of silence as well.

"So yah just sat there in silence? On that roof?" he muttered and Connor nodded with a grunt.

They carried the body out of the house and towards the shed by the lake. As soon as they reached it they threw it inside and cleaned their hands.

"Well, might be the only way t'shut you up for once. So yeah, as soon as we're done, we're both gonna tune in to bible tv and watch your fuckin sunset."

Connor grinned.

"It's a date!" he exclaimed with an overly high pitched voice, which made Daryl snort and turn around.

"Jackass" he muttered and headed for the house next door.


	3. Reveal

**August 11th, 2008, 11:18 pm - Hanscom Air Force Base**

"I don't trust this guy."

David didn't mean to spy on them. He really didn't. But since this was Zach speaking he figured that this was about _him_ again, so he stayed where he was and listened up. He had come out here to have a cigarette and because he needed fresh air, and it sounded like his new "arch-enemy" had decided to do the same with whoever he was talking to. David was feeling a bit better now. It had been two weeks since he had crashed here, two weeks of staying with the military, watching people fight and argue and die, two weeks of trying to figure out who the fuck he was and what he was doing here anyway.

Zach was one of the unimportant little soldiers who were trying to bypass their unimportance by being two-faced assholes. Since day one he had been the one who was complaining the most about his presence, and even now it sounded like he wouldn't stop trying to set everyone up against him.

"Geez, Zach. How many more times do we have t'tell yah. He's our chance to find a damn cure" an other man said, but David didn't really recognize his voice. He tried to get a bit closer to the men but didn't really want them to see or hear him. It sounded like they were standing in front of the main entrance to the building, much in contrast to him, who was standing by the small side entrance that was facing the hangar.

He was closer to the outer perimeter this way, and the countless undead that were slowly piling up on the walls and blockades were making it even harder for David to hear what was being said.

"Yeah, Mitch sees a goddamn cure, I see a freakin wolf in sheep's clothing! Like all those dead freaks out there aren't causing enough trouble already, no, they gotta drag this slimy smug bastard in here and he's sporting that freaking bite everywhere. He ain't no miracle. He's a fuckin time bomb" Zach complained and David heard the dragging of a foot, like someone was kicking something away.

"It's been two weeks, man. He ain't gonna turn. The Major knows what he's doing" said the other man, but that seemed to make Zach even more angry.

"He _knows_ what he's doing? If he does, then I ain't sure the man's got his brains in the right place. The bite ain't even the worst thing about it. That freak's a fucking psycho! He was all over the freaking news! For months! No, make that _years_ , Jimmy. Ain't no doubt about it. You know it's him. You saw the tats and all that shit. We got a freaking psycho serial killer with a freakin bite wound in here. And if he don't turn, then you bet your sweet little white ass he's gonna get someone killed anyway."

David frowned and tried to get closer, making the gravel crunch underneath his feet. He wanted to curse but kept his mouth shut. If, by some miracle, those two soldiers had not heard him yet then he didn't want to draw their attention to him now. There was an awkward silence for a moment, and David already believed that they had heard him, but then the two men kept talking. His heart was pounding in his chest, because this was _obviously_ about him. They _knew_ about him, unlike him.

"Don't be stupid. He don't even know anything about himself. That dude's melon's all cracked in case you didn't notice the bullet wound. He don't remember it and we don't have a problem. As simple as that."

Zach snorted.

"Yeah, _of course_ , Jim. You're a fucking moron. What if he finds out about those girls, huh? You still gonna be so fuckin chill about it then? When he puts a bullet between _your_ eyes? He killed more than 20 people already. And just because he doesn't remember it, it don't mean he won't do it again. A bullet won't make your crazy go away."

David frowned and automatically put a hand on his forehead, where he could feel the round hole in his forehead. He still didn't know who had shot and ambushed him, although he was dreaming about the incident on a regular basis now. He knew that a guy had shot him, that he had been blonde, that he had known him, but he couldn't remember his name, their relationship.  
  
But whenever he thought about that day he felt a wave of hurt and betrayal, like he had been close with this person. He remembered that he had been reaching out for him, trying to press the gun down, to beg him to help him and not to shoot him. He had been trying to stop him to let him know that it was _him_ , that he wasn't... And then it had happened.

BANG.

His ears ringing, incredible pain, and then darkness.

"Look" said Zach and snapped David out of his memories.

"All 'm saying is. There ain't ever gonna be a fucking cure. The world's gone to shit anyway . Even if we _did_ get a cure because of this freak, how the fuck are we supposed to cure so many fucking infected? At least one third of the population of Beantown has been wiped out. Almost two thirds gotta be dead and walkin around, and then there's us, maybe a couple 'a hundred people who are still alive. Bit too late for a cure now, don't you think?"

Jimmy snorted and spat on the ground.

"Aren't you a ray of sunshine, man."

"'m just telling the truth and you know it. It's survival of the fittest now. The Major just won't get it. He's so keen on his democracy and humanity bullshit and his fucking cure. Why do we even wanna restore the old order with this bullshit? I say we get a couple of our guys, tell them what's up with this Saint freak, and then we get rid of everyone who's in our way. I mean sooner or later that guy's gonna remember, and when he finds out that we put some wood up those kids then we're pretty much screwed anyway. So I say we go get him first and since we're already on it, might as well pull it right through. Just look at this place. We could have pussy for years and no one's gonna stop us anymore. There ain't no rules, there ain't no state or city or government and no ranks. We can do whatever the fuck we want. Just like we always wanted to."

David froze and paled. He still didn't know who he had once been, but if he could really trust them with their talk then they knew about his past.

_He had been some sort of serial killer? A Saint?_

He frowned and scratched his arm, the one where he had noticed the massive cross on it. He had been wondering about that, and it was kind of silly to be honest. _Who the fuck would call himself a saint and who the fuck would even tattoo this kind of bullshit on themselves?_ He'd nearly had a heart attack in the shower when he had first seen the immense tattoo on his back.  
  
So he had been extremely religious, a saint, but one who killed people who raped kids. Yes, it disgusted the hell out of him and made him angry to hear about something as fucked up as this, but he didn't get how someone who believed in god's word could kill someone in general.

And he had obviously done that a lot, judging by how Zach and Jimmy recognized him from the news and how they seemed to fear him. They certainly could be right with that, if it weren't for the fact that he didn't remember shit. But it looked like he would have to remember it soon, because these people were obviously out to _kill_ him because of that past.

He heard a gentle chuckle very close to the corner and pressed his back against the wall of the building.

 _Shit, he didn't even have a weapon with him and his body was still way too much screwed from the shot,_  
  
the bite wound and all the tests and needles.

"Just calm down, Zach. This is just your dick doing all the thinking for you. You just need to get laid, buddy.  
No need to call everyone out on this anarchy bullshit. Let's go. Our shift started 15 fucking minutes ago."

David felt sweat form on his forehead as their footsteps seemed to be getting closer and closer to his hideout.

"You just watch me, Jimmy. You just watch me."

The two soldiers walked right past him and headed for the south wall of the air base, and David could finally take a deep breath.  
The shadows had kept him out of sight. Thank fucking god. But also fucking _great_.

 _Zach didn't just hate him, he also wanted to_ kill _him.  
_

* * *

**318 days later...**

**June 24th, 2009 -11:48pm, Lake Oconee**

Connor was lying on the dirty couch that had once been white and now resembled the dirty color of pus. Everything stank and looked filthy these days, no matter where they went. Well, if you didn't count Woodbury. The Irishman rested his head on his right arm and turned pages of the old magazine he had found on one of the many shelves in this living room. Thinking of Woodbury, it reminded him of the others.  
  
He wondered how they were doing with them gone, if they had found the note and refrained from following them. Both he and Daryl didn't want to put anyone in danger, and they just wanted a break from the group, they wanted to be alone. They both doubted that Rick and the others would be following them too far or at all, because they both had left the group before and no one had followed them as well.

He kind of missed them though. He liked to be alone with Daryl but he also liked the company of a larger group, and there was no doubt that they would be returning to the group and Woodbury sooner or later. He considered this their little holiday. Connor raised his head and let his gaze wander once more. It was dark outside by now, and he could hardly see a thing anyway.  
  
They had covered the large window front with blankets to keep unwanted visitors from seeing the light of the lantern they had found in here. And by unwanted visitors they didn't just mean the walkers that were still staggering around here despite the fact that they had already killed about ten of them. No, they also wanted everyone else to stay away from this house, should there be any other survivors around this lake.

Every once in a while Connor could hear the gentle tapping and knocking of tiny fists on the window front, because there was one walker outside that he had not killed.

It was a little girl. Maybe five years old.

It wasn't like he hadn't killed a kid walker before. Back in the old days, when he had not been bitten yet and the walkers had tried anything to tear him apart he had killed two children walkers at Cape Breton Island. There had been no other choice, because they had almost attacked him and although he had wanted to die back then he had promised Murphy to stay alive. So he had bashed their brains in, and he had not really felt anything back then, because he had been just as dead as them back then.

But now everything was different. Walkers didn't attack him anymore, even though he didn't know for how long. And since they meant him no harm he didn't feel the need to kill that poor girl outside. No matter how much he hated the walkers and no matter how dangerous they really were. So he left her there in the yard to keep knocking, drawn in because of the faint light that shone through the blankets.

Connor let out a gentle sigh and rubbed his nose. He was tired and the reading with so little light was giving him a headache. He had told Daryl that he was going to take the first night watch shift, but regretted it right now. If only he could close his eyes for an hour or so. But he wouldn't risk that, not after all the encounters they'd had during that past year. And although he felt relatively safe, he still didn't trust the walkers, since they had attacked him twice after all.

If only he could switch on this large freaking LCD tv in front of him. Fuck the fact that the screen was broken and that there was no electricity. Oh what he'd do to watch one more fucking movie. Just one. He loved movies. It wasn't fair that they needed electricity to make them work. He missed those sleepless nights when he had been watching trash movies just to annoy his brother, or when they had been sitting in front of their tiny tv back in Boston, with a cool Guinness in their one hand, cigarette in their mouths and wearing nothing but boxers while they were watching one spaghetti western after another.

He wondered what Clint Eastwood or Charlie Bronson would do if they were him and Daryl.

_**Clint Eastwood and Charlie Bronson versus walkers - Western Style.** _

Now this was a movie he would like to see.

Because they were gods. No doubt about it. He tried to picture it. Walkers with cowboy hats on rotten horses and how they were all staggering and galloping towards them, while Eastwood and Bronson kept their cool. Cigar and harmonica in their mouths, ponchos strapped around their shoulders, almost like Daryl, just a whole lot cooler. Yeah. Daryl was Eastwood. He was Bronson. They would be keeping their cool until the very last moment with hordes of undead coming closer and closer. And then, POW POW POW. One cowboy walker after another, falling to the ground with a clean bullet to their heads. Smoking revolvers and cigars.

 _Fuck yeah. He_ definitely _wanted to watch a movie like that._

A muffled scream startled Connor so much that it sent him right off couch.  
He nearly hit his head on the table and tried his best to get back on his feet as fast as possible.

"Daryl!" he yelled before he even knew what he was doing, his protector instincts kicking right in.  
He started running and cursed himself for picturing stupid Westerns instead of keeping an eye out on his sleeping friend.

* * *

He was just eight years old, running through the woods, his eyes clouded with tears.  
He could hardly see but that wouldn't stop him from running, because he knew that this was life and death.  
He felt incredibly alone and abandoned although it wasn't like that at all.

He was being chased.

He could hear the stomping of countless feet behind him, smelled the disgusting stench of burned wood and flesh.  
Daryl was so so hungry, so so scared and so so alone.  
They had abandoned him and no one cared about the fact that he was lost in the woods, getting chased by nothing but _monsters_.

He turned around to see how close they were, only to let out a terrified shriek.

They were right behind him. And there was no one there to protect him, because Merle, his protector, was gone. He was with _them_ now. Daryl could see them come closer and closer, with three people right up front. The female walker was on fire, her long dirty blonde hair burning with large flames dancing behind her and following her wherever she went. Her face was almost unrecognizable, both her eyeballs long since exploded because of the intense heat. Her optic nerves were still sticking out of her burned eye sockets. No matter how terrifying the undead woman looked with all the fire, he still knew who she was. _How could he ever forget her?_

And right next to her, all bloody, the plaid shirt ripped with his guts sticking out of his belly, was his father. Belt and knife still in his bloody hands, his eyes wide open and white. Even from here he could still smell the alcohol, despite the stench of his burning mother. He was running faster and faster from them but couldn't keep his eyes from his parents, who were reaching out for him, trying to catch him.

And right next to them: staggering a bit slower but still just as hungry and insane was Merle. His arms tangling around with every step he took, the knife on his amputated hand stump nothing but shining sharp metal, just as dangerous as his father's weapons of abuse. He could still see the bloody hole in his belly, his bloody shirt where the bullet had hit him and taken his life just a couple of weeks ago.

No. Merle was with them now, and he remembered what he had told him back then.

 _Yah don't need your old bro Merle no more. Never did._ _Never will. So stop lookin for me.  
Ain't no need for yah t'follow me._

But how could he not follow him now that they all wouldn't stop calling him? Reaching out for him. ´  
Just like every single time he had that dream or vision or whatever the fuck it was: these undead freaks would repeat the same shit over and over again.

 _Come with us._  
Join us.  
Help us.

_You can't fight it._

His lungs were burning with pain from all the running, but there was the one pain, the one burning that was way worse than that. Once again it felt like his arm was on fire, and when he looked down on it he saw a burning bright red and black line travel all the way up his veins in his arms, to his heart, his brain.

_You can't fight it._

Daryl let out another shriek when a root of a tree made him fall down.  
The smell of burning flesh was coming closer and closer, he heard her screams and his father yell.

_Get here you useless piece of shit! Ain't no place for you to hide! I know you're there!_

He couldn't find his crossbow, but when he tried to get back on his feet he noticed how tiny his hands were and remembered. Right. He wasn't 34. He was 8. Just _eight_ years old. And Merle wasn't there. No one was there to protect him from them, the undead, the pain, the touch of his parents. He tried to crawl away, but right then a burning hand grabbed his arm, the arm that was burning with pain anyway. His burning mother nearly dislocated his shoulder as she turned him around with all the force she could gather, and then he was already looking at the countless undead faces, his mother, father and brother being right in front of him.

_You can't fight it!_

Merle was laughing, his mother was wailing in pain, and his father lunged out with the belt.

 _No!_ he yelled as loud as he could and started fighting.

This shit wasn't supposed to happen anymore. They were all dead. And he was a grownass man. It wasn't supposed to happen anymore.  
It was over.

 _No!_ he yelled and kept fighting. There was no way he was giving in.

"Daryl!"

His eyes snapped open and Daryl let out another terrified yelp, although it wasn't so loud and desperate anymore. No, he was actually _relieved_. He still kept struggling for a bit and felt the cold sweat on his back and forehead. It took him a moment to focus and realize where he was. Connor was sitting right on top of him and pinned both his arms to the mattress of the old bed he had been sleeping in, making it impossible for him to get up or fight. His chest was heaving because of the shock, and he also had to admit that he was absolutely _terrified._

His family was gone and he was no longer running from undead people in the woods, but the stinging pain in his arm wouldn't go away. He let out a shaky breath and turned his head to look at the crook of his arm that burned the most and felt sweat run down his left temple. He could see that his veins were still red and visible all around the spot where Connor and Hershel had done the infusion, and it was obvious that he still didn't really tolerate whatever his friend had pumped inside him and that kept the walkers from attacking.

"You alright? Jesus, you scared the crap outta me, man" Connor said and tried to make him look at him.

The Irishman put a hand on his chest and then felt his neck and forehead, which made Daryl growl and shake him off.

"'m fine" he growled and tried to get up, only to regret it.

A sudden sickness rushed over him when he remembered the stench of rotten flesh.  
He didn't get the chance to fight it, because the urge to gag was too strong.

"Fuck, what the fuck did you dream about?" Connor muttered behind him and tried to place a hand on his back to calm him down, but Daryl was already done and moved out of his reach. He wiped his mouth with an awkward gasp and moaned.

"What do you think? You were doing some disgusting naked riverdancing with leprechauns in fronta me. What else do you think would make me throw up my guts like that?" he muttered and got up. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head when he saw what he had managed to throw up, which wasn't exactly much.

 _Guess that means no more sleeping in here_ he thought and shivered in disgust.

Connor snorted.  
He was a bit disappointed that Daryl wouldn't share the real reason with him, but he knew his fried well enough by now to know when the hunter needed some peace.

"So she's dreaming about naked me now, interesting" he said with a chuckle and the topic was done.

Daryl massaged his aching arm and kept looking at it, completely lost in thoughts.  
The dream was still haunting him, but right now he was more worried about the blood thing.

"You sure you alright?" Connor asked after a while, concern really showing in his voice now.

Daryl nodded after a moment and relaxed his arm after flexing it.

"Yeah" he just said and then turned around to look at the Irishman.

"You got a cig?"

Connor looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

" _Me_? _Cigarettes_? Are ye outta your mind?"

Daryl rolled his eyes and Connor chuckled.  
He searched the pockets of his jeans and then threw a pack and a lighter at his friend, careful to aim at his head on purpose.

"We're running low on that stuff. First thing we gotta do in Augusta is raid a fucking tobacco company or shit like that."

The hunter lit a cigarette, the light of the flame showing how pale and exhausted he really was because of his nightmare.  
He took a long drag and then blew a big cloud of smoke.

_Jesus, this felt good._

Although the smell of smoke made him slightly nauseous again.

"Must've looked damn fine in that dream of yers if ye need a cig so badly after that" Connor said and grinned.

Daryl stared back at him, annoyance obvious. He still hated all the fake flirtations. But right now he was too tired to care or start complaining, so he figured that the best way to fight his friend's stupid tries was to give in and do the same shit. He stared at the Irishman for a while, careful to take a long drag on the cigarette and making the end glow with red burning ash.

"Maybe" he muttered and kept staring like that.

He had to fight the urge to laugh out loud when Connor looked quite taken aback.  
The bastard sure had not seen this coming and was actually speechless for a moment.  
Before the Irishman got to say something to that Daryl had already thrown the smokes and lighter at him.

"Moron" he muttered and then walked past the blonde to get back to the living room.

Connor followed him after a while and lit up a cigarette of his own while heading for the kitchen.

"I don't know about you, but I need a fuckin drink after that" he muttered with his cigarette still in his mouth as he headed for their bags.

Daryl sat down on the couch and put his feet on the table with an exhausted sigh.

"You need a drink after everything" he muttered and stared at the blankets that covered the windows.

He believed to hear the gentle tapping of hands. Even now the terrifying images of his dead family wouldn't leave his mind, and when he concentrated he believed to hear people calling and begging him again.

"Aye, guess yer right there" Connor muttered and walked past him so he could sit down next to him, which snapped Daryl out of this state.

The hunter looked up when his friend moved a glass of whiskey in his sight.

"Drink up. 's still warm" the Irishman said, which made Daryl snort.

He grabbed the glass and quaffed the liquid off. It burned in his throat and made him cringe, but it was a good kind of pain.  
He felt it tickle the insides of his limbs and stomach.

"I guess yer not gonna tell me what that shit was about?" Connor asked and leaned back so he could blow smoke at the ceiling.

"Nope" Daryl muttered and watched his friend.

Smug bastard and how carefree and relaxed he could be these days.  
He hated how he was the one with the nightmares and fucked up shit now.

They drank whiskey in silence while Connor started cleaning their guns. Daryl was thankful that his friend was giving him some space tonight, how he wouldn't say much but still kept him company. It took the hunter about fifteen minutes until he could finally calm down from his dream, and the whiskey and two cigarettes certainly played a big part there.

"So let's just say, we get there" Daryl started a conversation and Connor turned his head to look at him.

The hunter leaned back and took another sip of whiskey.

"To Augusta, I mean. What then? We get there, to this freakin lab or whatever, and they find a cure because of you and then what?"

The Irishman snorted and shrugged.

"I dunno, 't was yer idea ta go there."

"I just wanted t'get the hell away from this Woodbury place" Daryl muttered and stared at the broken tv screen.

 _Yeah. That was true._ He wanted to get away from Woodbury, away from all the memories and shit that had happened. He didn't -really- care about the cure, although he kind of wanted it to exist. For the others at least. The knocking outside was getting louder, and it sounded like there were more walkers now because of his screaming earlier.

Connor got back to cleaning the guns and cocked his head.

"Well, Milty said that all they gotta do is figure out how ta use my antibodies and killer cells or whatever. Won't stop the dead from walking, or maybe it does, but whatever it's gonna do, it's gonna stop people from coming back after they died. Which means we could slow everything down. Or maybe even coexist with these freaks like we're doing it now."

Daryl shook his head and sighed.

"First thing I'm gonna do when we get there is make sure they get your shit _outta_ me."

Connor frowned and looked at his friend.

"What?"

Daryl nodded.

"It's creeping me out. You know what 'm talkin about."

Connor pressed his lips together but wouldn't really react to that. Yeah, he knew what Daryl was talking about, because he could hear and feel it as well. Just sometimes and certainly not as frequently as before anymore, but still. All the weird dreams and the connection with the walkers was creeping him out as well. So maybe they could finally understand how these undead weirdos were functioning, like they were connecting on a subconscious level as one, but they sure as hell didn't want anything to do with that.

"Maybe they got an explanation for that as well?"

"Despite the fact that I didn't even ask for this shit in general?" Daryl muttered and Connor glared at him with an angry frown.

"Alright, don't have a problem with letting ye bleed ta fucking death next time" the Irishman muttered and took another angry drag on his cigarette.

Daryl didn't say anything for a while because he was just as grumpy, but figured that he shouldn't be. He sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"So let's just say they figure everything out over there. They produce the vaccine, vaccinate everyone, nobody gets bitten or attacked anymore, nobody dies except for the usual stuff that happened before the outbreak, the walkers all bite the dust sooner or later, we repopulate towns like Woodbury and that's it? Happily ever after?"

Connor put the first cleaned gun on the table and grabbed the next one with a shrug.

"Might be possible. So?"

Daryl snorted and looked away.

"That's bullshit."

Connor raised an eyebrow and looked at his friend again.  
He didn't like how pessimistic and cold Daryl had become after what had happened to him and his brother.

"And why's that?"

"You don't seriously believe that's gonna work out. After everything."

There was silence and Connor had to think about it for a while.

"Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away." And he who was seated on the throne said, "Behold, I am making all things new." Also he said, "Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true." ..." he quoted and Daryl just stared at him.

"Aye. I believe in that shit" the Irishman went on and avoided his friend's gaze, expecting Daryl to do the usual thing about his religion.  
Mock him and laugh. But the hunter wouldn't say anything or do anything for a while.

"I wouldn't know what to do with myself" he eventually admitted, which made Connor smirk at him.

"How about the same shit you did before?"

Daryl snorted and drank some more whiskey.

"Didn't do nothing with my life before all this."

"Well, yer a valuable member of our group now, aren't ye. I bet there's gonna be enough work we gotta do to make te new world work."

Daryl just watched his friend, interest showing in his eyes. He didn't know if it was the whiskey they made him talk and ask so much, or if it was just the fact that they were alone and no one would judge him for the fact that he really was interested in the man next to him, because even after all these months of being together he still couldn't really figure out how the Irishman's stupid brain functioned sometimes.

"What 'bout you? You gonna go back to your life before all this? Go back t'your city, hunt evil, kill criminals and run from the police?"

Connor snorted and shook his head with a sad smirk.

"Ain't no point in doing that all by myself. No. 'm never going back t'Boston. Too many bad memories up there" he muttered and seemed to be overly concentrated on his gun now.

"And I don't exactly fancy going back t'this life in general. It was awesome, but also pretty fucking exhausting. No. 'm too old fer that shit. 'm sick of it. I mean, 's not like I ain't gonna kill some evil fuck when I see 'em but...I don't want it t'be my job anymore. God made it Murph's AND my job. Not just mine. Doing it on me own would feel wrong. No. I kinda wanna do something with kids, y'know?" he said and looked at Daryl with a nod.

"Raise them te proper way. Teach people shit and do some good. Kill all that which is evil, so that which is good may flourish. 'm wanna make good flourish after all the crap that happened. Make them better and produce more good instead of erasing evil. Maybe become a priest? I don't know. People need te word of god in their lives. I don't want them t'ferget that. I'm too old fer that assassin shit anyway. And I feel like I killed too many people already. 'm gonna retire as soon as all this is over."

Daryl looked at his friend, bottle of whiskey right in front of his mouth, but a surprised snort kept him from drinking.

"You're 37 you moron."

Connor raised his head to look at the covered windows.

"38, actually. If it's past midnight."

Daryl had been drinking some whiskey but froze.

"What?" he managed to say and put the bottle away, staining his shirt with whiskey while doing so.

Connor nodded and looked at his weapons.

"Aye. June 25th, 1971. 38 years young. That's me. I know, I look like 'm 27. Don't tell anyone."

Daryl just looked at his friend for a while, unsure what to do or say. He hadn't been able to waste a single thought on birthdays for a pretty long while now. The last time someone had celebrated his birthday had actually been the only time Merle had remembered it, and that had been when he had gotten his old crossbow from him. Truth was that both Dixon brothers didn't really know the date, because their parents had been too drunk to really mark the date and his mother had given birth to him on their kitchen floor and not in hospital. Merle had not been there when he had been born, no, his brother had run away from home for the first time in his life after their father had nearly killed him with all his beatings that year.

He had never known Merle's birth date either, and they had never celebrated birthdays ever except for that one year, 1992, when he had turned 18 and Merle had actually acknowledge his existence with his most beloved present.

"Make that 50" Daryl said because he didn't know what else to say. It stuck in his throat, the _happy birthday,_ but his pride and stubbornness kept him from saying it even now. He still hated to show appreciation and affection, so he wouldn't congratulate his friend, although he really wanted to. Despite the fact that it was pointless anyway.

He still offered Connor the whiskey bottle which he had been drinking, to make up for it.

"Fuck you" the Irishman said with a grin and drank some of it.

There was an awkward silence because Daryl still didn't really know what to do, and since Connor had almost emptied the whiskey bottle they both felt even more awkward.

"'m gonna go get us some more booze" the hunter said and got up to get away from this awkward situation, and he also just needed some time to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do.

"Aye, good idea" Connor said and seemed strangely quiet all of a sudden, like the mention of his age had rang a bell.

When Daryl noticed how his friend lit another cigarette the flame also rang a bell, but this time he had to smirk.

"And when we're done drinking we could go outside, set a couple of lamebrains on fire so you gotta blow them out like candles" he suggested, which made Connor snort.

"Taha" he just chuckled and thought about it. He wasn't supposed to laugh about burning people and knew how sick it really was, but he kind of liked the idea. This very special date made him hate them even more. He turned around after a moment to make sure that Daryl had left the living room and then let out a gentle sigh. Yeah. Setting walkers on fire was a good idea to make them pay for everything they had taken from him, because they were the reason he was "celebrating" this very special date on his own now.

He looked at the two empty whiskey glasses he and Daryl had abandoned after a while and then filled them with the rest of the whiskey, and his throat didn't just burn because of the hard alcohol, right now it also burned because of the painful realization that this was the first birthday he was "celebrating" on his own.

As soon as the glasses were filled he took them both and stared at the liquid.

"Happy birthday, Murphy" he muttered and then downed them on his own.


	4. Survival

**_**316 days ago...**_**  
August 14th, 2008, 3:06 am - Hanscom Air Force Base, Boston  


David kept rubbing his thighs as he made his way over to the main entrance of the airbase. This had become some sort of nervous tick ever since he had heard Zach and Jimmy talk about him and what they wanted to do. But he wasn't just nervous because of them. He was also freaked out because he hadn't slept in days, didn't have any smokes left and because of all the experiments those doctors had tried with him.

Back when he had ended up here after that ambush he had agreed to do whatever they needed him to do to find a "cure", and part of him had also done it because he didn't want to be thrown out. He had liked it here back then. Shelter, food and protection was always a good thing, right? Except that it wasn't like this at all. With every week that passed it became more and more clear that there was no help on its way, no government, no solution. Just chaos, panic and the dead. Just yesterday another group had arrived outside their walls and fences. A group of bandits, trying to get in here to get supplies and weapons.

It had turned into a bloody massacre, with the strangers being mowed down to nothing. It had caused another wave of panic amongst the survivors who where in here with them, and a whole bunch of those former civilians had tried to escape. Some had been shot to prevent people from running the barricades over and to prevent the undead from breaking in, and although things had calmed down by now David was still getting sick of all this.

He wanted to leave this godforsaken place, this godforsaken city that had once called itself Boston.

He just didn't want to fear another ambush and attempted murder after all the shit he had been through, and he was more than done with all the experimenting bullshit. Because there was still no cure, not even a clue, and the undead kept coming. Sooner or later he was going to die here if he didn't get out of here soon. Whether it was because of Zach trying to murder him, soldiers shooting him because they were going crazy, or because of the fact that the city was burning all around them.

A couple of days ago there had been a massive explosion, and Major Simmons and a couple of other soldiers supposed that one or two power plants had exploded. Or something like that. And now that there were no more firefighters, no more people to put the fires out, all the houses, cars and whatever was left of their city was burning to the ground.

So yeah. It was chaos. And he needed to _go._

He walked up to the barricade that was still shaking like hell. He could hear the countless undead that were piling up on the gates, drawn in by their floodlights and the noise they were making, but they were also being driven out of the city because of the fire. David started chewing on his lower lip and stared at the gates for a bit, unsure what to do. He had come here to make it look like he was trying to take over a shift, just so he could jump the fence and get the hell away from here. The good thing was that those people couldn't just shoot him on the run because they needed him, needed his blood, so this was kind of his plan.

Except that he knew that he was shitty when it came to planning stuff out. There was a tiny bit of his abused brain that vaguely remembered that there had been someone in his life who had been taking care of stuff like that, but he couldn't remember who it had been, when it had happened or what was going on in general.

The healing headshot wound was still messing around with his brain, and that a _lot_. Despite the constant pain, sometimes even spasms and two epileptic seizures there were bits and pieces of his old life that he remembered from time to time. Especially from the day he had been shot. Most of his earlier memories were still lost though. He knew that there had been someone very important in his life, someone who had even defined his life, but he couldn't remember who.

He still supposed that it had been the woman he dreamed about every now and then, the bloody woman from the stadium that made him sad whenever he thought about it. He still didn't know if she had been his wife or something like that, but the stadium was the only thing he could really remember. And bits of the shooting, that stranger bastard who had turned him into such a fucked up cripple now. A cripple who still couldn't even really hold a goddamn fork and who needed hours to smoke a cigarette just because he couldn't really hold it either.

David shook his head with a growl when he heard how someone called his name. He had been staring at the shaking gate for quite a while now.  
He did that a lot. Get lost in thoughts, getting confused and not really knowing where he was and how he had ended up somewhere.

"Eh Dave!" he heard the woman's voice once more and looked up.

He could see Ashley up on the temporary towers and walkways they had build so they could keep an eye on the walkers from up there.  
The woman was staring down at him, rifle still in her hands and with that cocky smile on her face.

"You know the rules. No strays out here after curfew."

David tried to smirk back at her, although he didn't really feel like it.

"Figured I'd help you. Can't really sleep. Ain't even tired" he muttered although this was a lie.

He just needed to close his eyes and he was practically asleep. He just wouldn't allow himself that.

"We got it covered. Get back to your cot, McGillian" said the guard on the other side of the sidewalk,  
a man that David believed was that Sheppard guy from Framingham.

"Simmons told me to help you guys" David said as he tried to make his way up the ladder so he could join the two of them and get a better look at the outside world himself.

As soon as he was halfway up the ladder he notice how high the gate really was.

_Damn. This was going to be one hell of a jump._

"I said get back to your cot. We got orders" he heard Sheppard say and then there was the cocking of a gun.

"Jesus, just let him help, Sheppard" Ashley said and then got rid of her rifle so she could help him up.

David was wavering a bit and had trouble keeping his balance on the small bridge between the two temporary towers.  
He turned his head and then looked at Sheppard, who was still pointing his gun at him.

"What're ye gonna do? Shoot me? 'M immune and already survived a headshot, remember? I'm your dear Dr Gregory's miracle" David just said and ignored the other man.

He cleaned his hands on his thighs once more and looked down at the street, only to pale at the sight.

There were _a lot_ of walkers down there.

He raised an eyebrow and leaned a bit forward so he could get a better view. On the bright side: should he really jump then he would land on something relatively soft. Something rotten, but at least bodies and flesh instead of the hard asphalt. Although he wasn't exactly keen on getting anywhere near those walkers ever again. But even if he did, it didn't matter.

Because just one week ago he had discovered that those undead freaks wouldn't go after him anymore. One of the survivors, a young guy, had committed suicide in one of the old bathroom stalls of the former terminal building without telling anyone. The same evening some people had discovered him, now come back to life as a walker. He had managed to infect a couple of survivors and David had been caught in the middle of that chaos, trying to get everyone out and help the other soldiers. Then he had been face to face with one of the new infected.

And nothing had happened.

Ever since that incident he was even more freaked out and this was another reason why he wanted to leave. There were freaking kids in here with them, and he didn't want to freak them out or infect them or anyone else. Whatever was inside him now, those walkers knew it and thought that he was one of them now. Immune, but infected.

So should he jump down here then he suspected that they wouldn't attack him and tear him to pieces right away.

Probably.

"There's more of them every fucking day" Ashley muttered next to him when she noticed how David kept staring at the undead, who were glaring up at them, blinded by the floodlights, hands wavering in the air and trying to get them. They could see another couple of staggering figures in the distance.

"I'm not sure how much longer those gates are gonna hold. Terrance from B gate said that theirs nearly broke yesterday.  
And the fire's getting damn close on the East border."

David looked up at the female soldier, who was obviously worried. He actually liked her and felt a bit sorry now. Despite all the craziness that was going on in here and despite all the crazies that were locked up inside here with them there were actually a couple of people that he really liked, a couple of people that had their hearts in the right place. Ashley was one of those, just like Major Simmons.

"Maybe we could drop something on them. Save bullets, use something else" he suggested and then raised his head to look at the faint burning skyline of Boston.

" We could use that fire to fight them. Like, get a bunch of flamethrowers. Burn them or something like that. If we shoot them and burn them,  
might as well burn them right away, don't exactly matter, does it?"

Sheppard snorted next to him.

"And set this place on fire as well? Yeah, good idea potato man. Like we ain't got enough flames here already.  
Let's host a fuckin barbeque while we're at it" he muttered and shook his head.

David frowned angrily.

"You got a problem?"

Sheppard walked up to him until they were face to face.

"Yeah, I got a problem with stupid people."

David stared back at him, brows furrowed and getting more and more angry with every second of their intense stare down.

"I wanna see how smart yer gonna be after I shoot you in _your_ fucking head."

"Guys, just stop it" Ashley tried to reason with them and stepped between them when she sensed the high level of testosterone in the air.

"Oh yeah, do tell us one more time, asshole. So you got shot in the head. Bohoo. Because no one else ever got shot before you. Certainly not during any war that we've been in. Nah. You are such a fuckin miracle, look at you. What do you even think your pathetic little life's worth now, huh? Any more than mine or Ash's? You think you're the one to save the world? Newsflash, asshole. You ain't no saint anymore. No matter how much of that shit you tat on your body. People really think _you_ 're our chance for a cure? Like _god_ sent you? I call bullshit."

"Fuck you!" David snapped and shoved the soldier, who stumbled backwards and stared at the other man in suprise, only to get angry as well. Within seconds he turned his rifle around and used the pistol grip to hit David right in the face. The other man groaned in pain and stumbled backwards, jaw burning with pain and his already injured brain hurting about twice as much. And this was enough to make him snap.

Just like the many times before he couldn't really control his temper and darted forward to attack the soldier once more. He grabbed the rifle and threw it away so he wouldn't get shot or hit again. The two men got engaged in a fist fight, and although Sheppard was a trained soldier David had the advantage of not wearing that much gear, and being angry like hell. He could feel how Ashley was trying to drag him away from Sheppard by putting him in a headlock, but the dark-haired man wouldn't give in. The fight went on for several minutes until they could hear how more soldiers were coming to help, and David finally stopped fighting.

"I'll kill you, you slimy little fuck! Zach was right about you!" Sheppard spat and held his bleeding nose that was broken by the looks of it.

"You were the one talking shit, asswipe!" David countered and then kept fighting Ashley.

"Put your hands behind your head!" an other soldier from downstairs screamed at them and his fellow soldiers pointed their rifles at them.  
David looked down and snorted.

He couldn't believe this shit was really happening. _How the fuck had he managed to get in here in the first place? Fuck the food and shelter. He'd rather spent a whole year outside hauled up in a house in burning Boston._ Everything was better than this place now: this place where democracy and humanity no longer existed and where soldiers, the ones who were supposed to _protect_ civilians, where the real fucking monsters. All hyped up on their power and lack of government and future.

He shook his head and the looked at furious Sheppard and then Ashley, who was looking back at him in sheer surprise and disbelief.  
He could feel how at least five rifles were being pointed right at him, and he knew that this was his only chance to leave now.

"I'm outa here" he said and then walked backwards to get closer to the edge.

He could still hear the growling and snarling undead underneath them, but even they didn't matter.  
At least those undead freaks never betrayed each other or killed one of their own.  
They were equal, so even they were better than this godforsaken place.

"I said freeze and put your hands where we can see them!" one of the soldiers yelled but David had already turned around and was now staring at the undead.

"Don't!" Ashley yelled and darted forward just when he was about to jump to escape.

She wrapped her arms around his waist. They both staggered as David tried to fight her off.

"Let me go! You can't fuckin keep me here, yah bastards!" he yelled and tried to fight her off, but then Sheppard was already on him as well.

_So much for his brilliant escape plan._

"Fuck off!" he yelled and shoved one of the soldiers especially hard.

Then everything happened within a blink. Not like in those movies when something dramatic was happening in slow motion. No, this was violent, full of adrenaline and happening way too fast. Just one second after that shove Ashley suddenly lost her balance and was thrown against the railing with the force of two men fighting. It caused her to struggle and then she toppled over while she was still trying to hold on to both the railing and the sleeve of David's jacket.

There was another second of yelling incoherent things and both David and Sheppard were trying to keep her from falling, but then she was already gone. She fell down the barricade and right onto the crowd of walkers with a piercing shriek. All Sheppard and David could do was watch in horror as the undead started digging their dirty rotten fingers and nails into every tiny piece of flesh they could get. Ashley still wouldn't stop screaming because neither the fall nor the attacks had killed her yet.

David was absolutely horrified and even paralyzed. He had not meant to shove her like that, and he certainly had not wanted to kill Ashley. Especially not like _that_. She was still struggling and fighting and shooting bullets at nothing in particular, and all her screaming just paralyzed him even more. He felt sick. _This couldn't be happening. Why the fuck was everything going so fucking wrong?_ He was hardly aware of all the soldiers that were making their way up the ladders in a hurry to get him and check out the situation, and it wasn't until David saw Sheppard pull his gun that he finally knew how to talk or react again.

For just a second he thought that Sheppard was going to shoot him for that. For a moment it even looked like the soldier considered this. His face was nothing but an angry grimmace, showing frustration and hatred. The he turned around, took aim and shot screaming Ashley in the head to save her from this slow and agonizing death.

David knew that this was his last chance to jump and run away, but for some reason he couldn't move at all. He just stared at Ashley's bloody corpse and how she was being torn apart. A painful memory flashed before his eyes when he saw the image, like he had seen something like that happen before. He heard the screams of a little girl and saw how she was being torn apart as well.

Except for the fact that he _hadn't_ shot her. He had been dragged away by someone while he had been screaming and fighting, trying to get back to her. He remembered the girl, because he was dreaming about her every now and then. He still didn't really know who she had been, but supposed that she had been his daughter. Because whenever he thought back and replayed those faint memories he felt so much pain, like he had been responsible for her wellbeing.  
And he had failed. And he kept screaming for someone, yelling for someone to help him and stop this from happening.

_CONNOR!_

He kept yelling in his head, although he didn't even know anyone whose name was Connor.

And as he watched the undead eat the remains of Ashley's body he heard the man yell an other name over and over again while he kept fighting whoever was holding him back from getting to his dying daughter. And there it was again, the name. The name of the second stranger that the man named Connor kept yelling like a madman.

_MURPH!_

Then one of the soldiers knocked him out with his rifle and everything went black.

* * *

_**316 days later...** _

**June 25th, 2009 -7:32am, Lake Oconee**

Daryl shifted and mumbled something even he didn't understand. The couch was way too uncomfortable, so it was no miracle that he had woken up. It wasn't like he'd had a good night in general. He was hungover from all the drinking yesterday. He and Connor had celebrated the Irishman's birthday for a bit. With a whole lot of alcohol from the cellar they had found. It had been a miserable and yet fun evening, and he was pretty sure that they both couldn't really remember half of it.  
  
Or maybe Connor did, because his blood type wasn't type o negative, it was fucking whiskey. He groaned when he remembered the taste of whiskey and then shifted once more, but no matter what he did, it wouldn't get any better. The couch was fucking horrible. And he felt like shit because of all the alcohol that was still in his blood. He covered his eyes with his arm because the sunlight was way too bright as well.

"Jesus, you sound like a cheap hooker" Connor greeted him and Daryl finally opened his eyes to let the world know that he was awake and available now.

He stared at the ceiling for a bit and rubbed his eyes with a yawn.

"Yeah, figured a loser like you'd know what those sound like" he greeted his friend and smirked a bit.

_Oh he was so incredibly funny today. That's what spending a year with a leprechaun does to you.  
Turn you into a fucking standup comedian._

Connor snorted.

"At least I've heard women moan before. Unlike you, Mr Virgin Mary."

"Fuck you" Daryl said and raised his middle finger in the air, unsure where to aim it because he didn't really know where Connor was and because he was way too tired to get up yet.

There was silence for a while and he could hear the rustling of paper.  
Then he heard the soft sound of Connor blowing smoke.

"Besides, only saw one hooker up close during one of our early gigs. All fake tits and all that shit."

Daryl raised an eyebrow and rubbed his itching left eye.

"Didn't exactly wake up just to hear you talk about fuckin hookers" he muttered, but Connor kept talking just like always.

"You shoulda seen her. It was a fucking miracle that those didn't fuckin explode when we was just looking at them. Not like we were doing that on purpose, of course. Because fer real, that was fucking disgusting that shit" he kept talking to himself and took another drag on his cigarette, and Daryl used the time to talk, now that the Irishman couldn't go on for a second.

"You think tits are disgusting? Yeah, so you ain't just a whiny loser, you're also fucking gay. Called it."

The whole "porn" talk annoyed the crap out of him. Because M... He tensed and shook his head. The _guy_ had been just like that. Always talking about women like they were just meat. He knew that Connor wasn't like that, but it still annoyed him. And for once he could be the one calling anyone gay just because they weren't really interested in women. Or talking about them 24/7.  
  
He finally got up so he could look at his friend, because he wanted to see his reaction to that accusation. He remembered his own fits of rage whenever his brother had called him that. And he knew that Connor also hated to be called that because he always liked to say that it went against his religion, but he was even more surprised when the Irishman just grinned at him.

"Why do ye think 'm always hanging out with you?"

Daryl narrowed his eyes at his friend and then got up with a pissed grunt.

"Screw you."

"Any time, honeybunch."

"Jesus fuckin..."

"Lord's fuckin name.."

Daryl shook his head with an angry eyeroll.

"Knock it off, dumbass."

Connor just chuckled as an answer and then got back to his scribblings or newspaper or whatever the fuck he had found this time to entertain himself this morning. And he was a freaking morning person, he was. Although they never really talked about that stuff Daryl figured that Connor had been just like that during mornings before the outbreak: always getting up super early, getting showers, humming shit, making and drinking coffee and reading goddamn papers while having his morning smoke.

It was weird because it suited him but at the same time didn't suit him at all, because he didn't come from this sort of social background. Connor hadn't been some rich Wall Street guy with his coffees and newspapers before work. But for some reason that Irish weirdo still did that kind of thing every time he could. Maybe this really was a big brother thing. Because for some reason, call it look alike seventh sense or something - he believed that Connor's brother had been just like him - Daryl - the grumpy so not a morning person little brother. It wasn't like he didn't get up early as well. Just not in that kind of a good mood.

"You were dreaming and talking again" Connor said when Daryl got rid of his old dirty shirt to put on a new one.

The hunter froze for a second and stared at the opposite wall, jaw clenched and anger building up.

"So?"

There was silence for a while, and then he heard Connor sigh.

"Look, I know it's...well it's really tough ta lose yer brother from one se..."

"I'm fine" Daryl interrupted his friend and threw his shirt away a bit rougher than necessary.

"Yer obviously not man. You think I don't hear ye all the time? I just wanted t'tell ye that yer heading down a very dangerous path. I've been there. You try t'hide it and kill it, like all that anger and grief isn't there, and maybe you can take it fer a couple a weeks, a couple of months or maybe even a year, but sooner or later that shit's gonna hunt you down and destroys you if you don't come t'terms with it."

"I said 'm fine" Daryl growled once more and then turned around to look at Connor with an angry frown.

"What'd you think 'm gonna do if it ' _hunts me down'_? My brother's dead, boohoo. You think 'm gonna hang myself cos of that?  
Run away and cry? Yeah of course, cos that's gonna happen. I said 'm fucking fine."

Connor looked hurt for a second although Daryl had not meant it to be personal, but then it was already too late. Now Connor just looked pissed.

"Fuck you, man" he said and put his cigarette out on the kitchen counter so he could get up.

"Fuck me? No fuck you. I'm getting damn tired of all your touchy touchy bullshit all the time. Yeah, so maybe we are in the same boat because we both lost our brothers, but that don't mean that I take that stuff the same way you did. I can't exactly control whatever the hell I dream, but that's got nothing t'do with how I feel, alright? It's about survival. I _survive_. That's all that matters. Cos it's about what happens today and tomorrow, not what happened yesterday. We lost a whole bunch of people, and people die, have died and always will die. Don't matter if it's cos of some geeks or because of too many beers and burgers before all that shit. Or if it's because of people getting shot in the fucking stomach."

There was a long pause and they just stared at each other. Daryl had to swallow hard. He had not meant to explode like that again, and it certainly wasn't because of Connor trying to help him, it was because of the fact that he _was_ hurt and that he _was_ angry and upset because of his brother's death.

"I said I'm fine and I'm _fine_ " he finished and the thing was done for him.

Connor stared back at his friend, frustration and anger written all across his face. He pressed his lips together for a while and considered getting into a fight just to punch some sense into Daryl, but he was too tired of all that fighting shit. Everything that had happened last year had been enough for a lifetime.

"Fine. Do whatever ye gotta do ta keep yer fucking dreamcloud floating, asshole" he growled and then headed for the french door that led outside to the lake.

"Where are you going?" Daryl protested, because he instantly regretted his behaviour.

It wasn't like he meant to push Connor away. He appreciated his friend's help in fact. And he would talk about anything with him now.  
His childhood, his past. Anything but _that_. He just wanted to be left alone and he didn't want to hear the word "brother" or even "Merle" ever again.

"I need t'cool off. It's two hundred fuckin degrees in here in case you didn't notice. And I don't wanna drive off and have a heat stroke about five minutes later on te road" his friend answered and then slammed the door shut.

Daryl just stayed there for a minute and watched his friend through the windows.  
Connor was heading for the lake and killed another walker on his way there.  
Once he had dragged the body to the others he made his way over to the landing stage and then sat down on the hot wood to get rid of his shoes.

Part of Daryl wanted to complain because of the fact that the Irishman seriously wanted to take a fucking swim in a lake when they were trying to get to Augusta, but then he figured that he needed to give the guy a break. This was the apocalypse, this whole thing was too screwed and dangerous already, so it wasn't exactly helping that he was so uptight all the time. The end of the world meant no more rules and no more schedules, and he considered this his bit of runaway and break time anyway.

_Why the hurry? There was going to be enough shit to deal with as soon as they got back to Rick. So a bit of "fun" didn't do anyone any bad, did it?_

Connor got rid of his jeans and shirt next and the hunter visibly winced when he saw the still healing bite wound on his neck.  
It looked pretty good by now, but the whole scar and the amateur stitches made it look like he had been butchered.

Daryl felt yet another wave of regret when he saw those scars, because he knew that some of the scars that his friend had were there because of him.  
Because he was always so goddamn pissed and always so goddamn uptight. They were a match made in hell.  
Daryl was always grumpy, and it didn't take much to make Connor huffy.

_Really great._

He noticed how Connor just stood there on the landing stage and stared at his bandaged hand, the broken wrist that was almost healed but still healing. It looked like he was considering what to do with it because the water wasn't exactly clean, and even now Daryl still couldn't keep his eyes off that giant tattoo on his friend's back. It looked awesome but at the same time stupid and insane, but he figured that he should stop thinking about it because he had a tattoo that was just about the same size on his back now. Angel wings. How fucking gay was that.

Except that he had to admit that they really looked cool and even better than on his vest. Connor had finished it just a couple of days ago, before they had snuck out of Woodbury. And his friend had done a damn fine job. The tattoo did what it was supposed to: cover the past, mark something new.

The hunter raised an eyebrow when Connor suddenly jumped into the water instead of getting in there all slow and steady, and when he got to the surface again the Irishman started shaking his bandaged hand and winced. Although the doors and windows were shut and he couldn't really hear it Daryl could still see and imagine the loud curse that escaped his friend's mouth right then and there, and for some reason that made the hunter chuckle.

"Stupid moron" he muttered and shook his head.

Only Connor could be such a clumsy idiot to jump into water with a broken wrist only to complain that it hurt.  
The hunter let out a gentle sigh and figured that he was done with all the moping and being grumpy,  
so he headed for the door as well and then stepped outside. A wave of heat hit him like a fist and he blew out some air.

The height of the Georgian summer. How _nice_. It was weird to see such a place, with summer cottages, hotels, camping sites, RVs and boats all abandoned like that. A little more than a year ago this place had been crowded with tourists, families and screaming children and sand castles and late night parties. And now this. Absolute silence. No movement except for a couple of walkers down the beaches and Connor in the water.

The Irishman noticed his friend on the landing stage after a while but chose to ignore him just a bit more, because he enjoyed the cool water and the silence. He loved things like this, getting closer to nature. Whether it was water or the green hills and woods of Ireland back on their farm. This was the one thing he had always missed back in Boston, although there had been parks and the river and the Atlantic.  
  
Georgia was really great in that regard. Minus the heat. He was part North European. And he was used to rain and _cold_ weather.  
He _hated_ the fucking heat. Which was exactly the reason why he didn't want to get out of here any time soon,  
although he suspected that Daryl was here to give him shit for that.

He swam around for a little while longer until his healing wrist hurt too much, and then finally made his way back to Daryl, who was now sitting on the landing stage with his bare feet in the water. He still looked a bit grumpy but Connor knew this face. It was the "I'm still pissed but I'm sorry" Daryl Dixon face. Because this was all it was about with Daryl: body language. Not words.

The Irishman swam over to his friend and played extra miserable on purpose because he had a cunning plan. He grabbed the wooden surface of the landing stage with his healthy hand and both men just looked at each other for a minute. Daryl still wouldn't say anything and neither did Connor. This was the fight: part two. See who gives in first and who cancels the fight and stops moping first.

Connor wiped his fringe away because it was plastered to his forehead. He hated it when it was like that, because it made him look like a five year old and he _wasn't_ a five year old. He had once been a serial killer. He was a killing machine, fuck yeah. So his hair had to be all crazy and sticky-uppy. He tried to save it as good as he could and then finally broke the silence.

"Better get yer arse in here as well. Don't exactly fancy another 3 hour drive with grumpy you in the passenger seat. Cool yer dumb brain fer a bit."

His friend narrowed his eyes once again, although he didn't look as pissed anymore.

"Screw you" he muttered, his standard response to everything.

"I ain't getting in there" he added and Connor snorted.

"Aye, because then you could actually look clean fer once" the Irishman answered and pointed at Daryl's dirty, sweaty and muscular arms. It had been days since his friend had last seen any sort of water. He was like a cat in that regard. He always like to say things like he "don't need to be clean for no woods and killing geeks" and that it was " a waste of time".

Although Connor had grown up country he was very different there. He hated being dirty and filthy. Daryl called it "being a diva", Connor called it "taking care of himself" and "being self-conscious". Back in Ireland, when he and Murphy had decided to let their hair and beards grow to cover their identity and make it harder to be identified he had absolutely hated it, although he had gotten used to it after a couple of years. But now he was back to his old self. All shorter hair and just a couple of stubbles along his jaw.

"Come on, I wanna get t'Augusta today" the hunter said and got up after a moment of just being there and enjoying the cool water on his feet.

Connor almost had to smirk, but he tried to keep a straight face.  
  
_Oh yes. Another one of his ideas and plans. He was fucking brilliant he was._

"Alright, give me a hand, bitchface" he muttered and tried to act grumpy and miserable, although he was actually back to his jokester mood.  
  
Problem was that he wasn't really good at acting and hiding things from friends and family.  
The hunter frowned and stared at his friend's outstretched hand. He was obviously suspicious.

"Come on, there's no fuckin ladder and I can't use two hands ta pull myself up" Connor growled and then waved with his bandaged hand, and Daryl finally reacted.

"You better not weigh a..."

The hunter widened his eyes in surprise when he felt the Irishman pull.

"Don't you fuckin...!" but it was already too late. With a loud splash Daryl did a full on belly flop and landed in the water.

Connor started howling with laughter and watched his friend struggle for a good couple of seconds until Daryl finally knew where up and down was and he could finally breath again. The hunter started coughing and wiped his black hair out of his eyes, face nothing but an angry grimace.

"Are you fucking mental, you ass?" he complained and sent a wave of water to his friend, who still couldn't stop laughing.

"Yer fuckin face, dying swan queen material that was, man" Connor cackled and held his belly because it hurt from all the laughing.

Daryl pulled his wet shirt to stop it from glueing itself to his chest. He was soaking wet and that pissed off.  
The water he had breathed in burned in his nose, and his wet hair was annoying the crap out of him as well.

"Asshole" he growled while sending another wave of water towards Connor.  
  
He then aimed a kick at his friend.

The Irishman's laughter got caught in his throat right then and there and he suddenly leaned forward, eyes squeezed shut in pain.

"Ow! You fuck!" he groaned and held his best bits.

Daryl had not really aimed there because he knew how much it hurt, but right now the result satisfied him more than it should. Now it was Connor who spattered him with water, but the younger of the two friends refrained from fighting back because he didn't want to seem like a five year old. The Irishman was obviously still in pain because he was making his way back to the landing stage in a crouched position, and after a moment of just watching him and trying to be pissed Daryl suddenly had to snort. And then grin. And then chuckle.

"Fuck you" Connor growled, now obviously pissed because he had lost the fight yet again.


	5. Brother

**_**316 days ago...**_  
August 14th, 2008, 3:34 am - Hanscom Air Force Base, Boston**

"Why can't you just make this easy for me?"

David tried not to look at the Major since he was still pissed and shocked because of Ashley's sudden death. The one he had caused, just because he wanted to get away from this place. The soldiers had put him inside the room doctor Gregory used as his office and surgery. And once again they had cuffed him to the metal frame of the bed.

It was so useless, really.  
No matter what he did and no matter what he tried, he would always end up in this room with cuffs around at least one of his wrists.  
_It was absolutely ridiculous._

" I'm trying my best to convince people that we _need_ you here. That you're the solution.  
But you're not exactly making it easy for me" Major Simmons said and grabbed one of the chairs so he could sit down next to the bed.

David snorted and looked at the ceiling.

"Doesn't exactly surprise me that none of the civilians listen ta you.  Have ye ever noticed how none of your soldiers will listen to your orders anyway? No matter what you tell 'em?"

He finally turned his head to look at the Major, who was sitting opposite him. Simmons looked very tired and his 3 o'clock shadow was getting more noticeable each day. It was obvious that it wasn't just this base and society that was falling apart. The Major seemed to be losing control as well. Truth was that David didn't really want to know how hard it was to be in charge of so many soldiers and civilians. People that were losing their hope, ambition and some of them even their morality and minds.

"Sheppard told me that you tried to jump the gate before you shoved that woman."

"Didn't shove her. Was an accident" David mumbled and then started chewing on the nails of his free hand.  
He missed twice because of his bad coordination until he could finally place two fingers on his lips to start chewing.

"You can't just run away. This base needs you. You're a sign of hope. For all of us."

"Don't you see it? There's nothin fuckin left here!" David suddenly yelled and was quite surprised because of his own reaction.  
He took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

"Your base is falling apart, Major. Because those people out there already know it. There ain't no help comin, and 'm sorry, but I'm not yer magic cure either. It's been weeks. And your own boys talk shit behind your back because of that. It gets worse with every additional week that passes. Don't you see that they're planning t'take over because you.."

Simmons sighed and rubbed his face.

"Do we seriously need to go through this again?"

"Fuckin aye!" David roared and shifted abruptly, which caused the cuffs to hit the bed frame with a loud _cluck_ again.

"Zach's just waiting until a gate breaks or the fire gets here or god knows what kinda thing's gonna happen sooner or later.  
And then he's gonna try ta kill me. And maybe even you."

The major raised his head to look out of the windows of the container they were sitting in.

"I've known private Gilbert since the day he first joined the army. And I've known his father and grandfather even before that.  
He's from an honorable, strong family. Committed to his country, willing to die protecting its citizens."

David snorted.

"That didn't exactly sound like it last time I heard tha guy talk."

The Major stared at the cuffed man for a while, until it actually made the younger of the two feel uneasy.

"I cannot imagine what you've been through out there" he suddenly said and David just looked back at him.

"How many people you lost, what exactly happened when you got bit and shot. But I can imagine it's been a traumatic experience."

David rolled his eyes and then turned his head away. He didn't want to talk about it. Or hear anything about it.

"It can happen to anyone. And it doesn't matter how much death you've seen before this. This whole thing here? This is new. This is the worst war we've ever found ourselves in. And war changes everyone. Men, woman. You go out there to protect your own country because it is your duty and because you've sworn to die to protect freedom but..when you enter the battle then it will always mark you. I've seen hundreds of strong and brave men return home absolutely broken. Both physically and mentally. It is a glorious act for your country, but the most horrible thing you can do to your own soul."

David just folded his arms as good as he could and chose to ignore the Major, although his words kind of hit a nerve.

"So I get that you have trust issues now, and that you think that everyone and everything is a danger to your life. But trust me, it's not.  
It's absolutely not. You're safe here. Safer than outside. You're currently experiencing something that we call post traumatic st..."

"Oh Jesus, come on" David growled and then looked at the Major again.

"Someone might've cracked me head, but I can still tell who's the good guy and who's the bad guy.  
And there's more and more bad guys out there every day. Why do ye think I wanna get the hell away from this place while I still can.  
This place 's gotten way too shady fer me."

The major raised an eyebrow and now looked curious.

"The..good guys and the bad guys."

David nodded.

"Aye. You try ta kill me, hurt me, or hold me down and yer a bad guy. As simple as that" he growled and then turned his head again because it hurt in that position.

"Fuckin hate guys like Zach 'n Sheppard. Can't explain it. I just do" he added.

"And your solution is to run away from them? Go out there where it is far more dangerous than in here?"

David snorted.

"What else you want me t'do? Kill everyone who does shit and stay here in your little cage until I bite te dust in here?  
Maybe I would've done that if I could actually shoot a fuckin gun and hit somebody."

The major just kept staring at him and it was quiet for a while. David sighed and rubbed his aching head.

"Just lemme go, Simmons. I got nothing against you."

"How much do you know about your past, Mr McGillan?"

David gritted his teeth and then looked at the other man for a while.

"I had a family, and they got torn t'shreds and died bloody" he said matter of factly, or he tried to sound like it at least.

Truth was that he still didn't know anything about himself even after so many weeks of being here. All the tiny bits and pieces that he remembered, parts of faces, voices and places, there wasn't too much information there to make sense of a whole life. But he figured that pretty much everyone had lost entire families because of that thing, and it just had to have happened to him as well.

"And before that?" Simmons went on.

David pressed his lips together and just stared.

"I..."

He tried to think hard, but just like any other time it felt like every fibre of his brain got clogged up and recalled absolutely _nothing_.  
He flexed his uncuffed right hand and then looked at it, stared at the dirty tattoo he had on his index finger.

_Aequitas._

He didn't even know what it meant. Although it seemed _so_ comforting and familiar. Like it was just waiting to be spoken out.  
Named. Defined. But he just couldn't remember, no matter how hard he tried.

"I don't care about my fuckin past right now, alright? If I were you I'd stop sitting on me ass in here and go out there ta get my men under control."

"I've got just one more question for you before I go" Simmons said and got up.

"What?" David muttered and wouldn't give in now that they were staring right at each other.

"You said your family. Does that apply to your brother as well?"

It was like he could almost feel his blood leave the upper part of his body. David paled and cold sweat started running down his forehead.  
The salty liquid burned in his healing headshot wound, but it wasn't nothing compared to the sudden pain he felt in his chest.

He didn't know why he was reacting like this, why it was so hard to breathe and why panic was suddenly rushing over him.  
_Two seconds ago he had not even known that he had a brother. So why was he reacting like that?_

"What?" was all he could say, and Simmons nodded.

"We know that you had a sibling. A brother. Dr Gregory told me not to tell you anything about your past because there could be a shock reaction, but we just can't wait any longer. You obviously have a hard time remembering things. Maybe you just need a little help there. We know you and your brother from news reports shortly before the outbreak. Dr Gregory suggested that we should send an escort team out there as soon as you can tell us more details on your brother's last known location. It might not be too late yet. There is a high possibility that he could be immune to this infection as well."

David was still having a hard time breathing and concentrating, because he felt terribly sick all of a sudden.  
His heart pounded in his chest, like he was reacting heavily to something he didn't even remember. Simmons seemed to notice the look on his face then.

"I'm sorry. This must be hard for you."

"What do you mean, 'brother'?" David managed to ask but still couldn't really control his breathing.

Just when Simmons was about to answer his walkie-talkie came to life.

" _2-478- Delta to 18-57-Alpha, I repeat 2-478- Delta to 18-57-Alpha please come in."_

Simmons moved so he could get it. David widened his eyes and sat up abruptly.

"No, wait! What do you mean by brother?!"

"This is 18-57-Alpha, 18-57-Alpha. What is your code? Over."

There was the cracking of static for a moment and then they could hear excited talking.

" _This...s..thi...fuck why is..ot workin..ahh...je...This is Private Lewis from B ..ate. I repeat, Private Lewis ..om B Gate, Over_."

"Hey, we're not finished here!" David yelled.  
  
He couldn't believe that some asshole had to call in just when Simmons was about to tell him more about his past.

_And he'd thought that shit like that only happened on television._

"Yes Lewis, I can hear you loud and clear. State your problem."

" _Major! We're...we're having problems with the gate again. Big time. I...I..ink we got a code two here. I repeat.  
Code two, Request immediate assistance, request immediate assistance. Over."_

Simmons relaxed the arm with the walkie and rubbed the bridge of his nose with an exhausted sigh.  
David froze right then and there, his own problems forgotten for a moment.  
He swallowed hard when he remembered the concern in Lewis' voice.

"That doesn't sound too good" he observed and Simmons moved the walkie up to his mouth again.

David started chewing on his thumbnail just like he always did when he was nervous.

"I'm on my way" the Major said and put the walkie down again, only to put his to his mouth once more.

"And Lewis" he said and then there was some more static.

 _"...es, Sir_?"

"Take a deep breath, zero your rifle before you start shooting and aim for the heads and the heads only."

Before Lewis got the chance to answer Simmons had already put the walkie away so he could grab his pistol instead.

"I'll be right back" he muttered, now obviously back in his soldier mode.  
David just looked at the man for a second, completely dumbfounded, but then remembered why his heart was still pounding like hell.

"Wait! You didn't tell me what's up with the brother!"

But it was too late. Simmons was already gone.

* * *

_**316 days later...** _

**June 25th, 2009 -7:46am, Lake Oconee**

Connor craned his neck and faced the sky with his eyes closed. He was still inside the water and didn't even mind the heat of the sun on his face. He actually enjoyed it. He enjoyed pretty much everything about this situation right now. The fact that he wasn't in pain, that both his physical and mental injuries were healing. He felt good. This moment felt good. He didn't have to fear anything. No walkers. No freaky people. No one. It was just him in this lake. Him and his grumpy best friend, who was right next to him and didn't exactly want to get out of the water anymore either.

Daryl had calmed down by now and didn't mind the fact that he had been thrown inside the lake. Just like Connor he enjoyed the silence and good mood after their previous fight, but much in contrast to his friend he couldn't do it for too long. Sooner or later the bad memories would always come back, because he was still at an earlier stage of grief and his brother's death was still too fresh.

"What I'd do fer a cold fuckin Guinness right now" Connor broke the silence and rubbed his wet face.

They were both clinging to the wooden landing stage, arms folded on the stage with feet still paddling lazily in the water.

"And the knowledge that I could be sitting in a pub tonight" he went on and then sighed.

"Except that there aren't no pubs left. Shame that is. There goes my fuckin party, Eastwood movies. Oily disgusting pizza..."

Daryl cleared his throat and then scratched his nose.

"Listen, 'bout earlier..."

"I fuckin miss pizza, man" Connor kept talking to himself and Daryl smacked the back of his head.

"Listen up, 'm trying to apologize in case yah didn't notice, you dumbass."

Connor turned his head and smirked at him after a moment.

"Don't mention it. I know how yer redneck brain works by now. Chill, brother."

He craned his neck again to enjoy the sun some more. Daryl watched him while he replayed their previous fight for a while.  
He really did feel sorry now, because he knew that Connor had just been trying to help.  
He took a deep breath and turned his head to look at the abandoned house they had used to crash last night.

"I honestly don't even miss him" he suddenly said and was quite surprised that he had spoken that thought out.  
Connor looked at him but wouldn't say anything. Daryl avoided his gaze and gritted his teeth a bit.

"I know I should and I kinda do, in a way. But..I'm also glad that it's over. He was my brother and..." he sighed hard and then shook his head with an angry growl.

"But he annoyed the crap outta me sometimes that crazy son of a bitch."

Connor snorted, which made Daryl glare at him. The Irishman waved him off and tried not to do it again.

"Sorry, that was fuckin rude" he apologized and Daryl shrugged.

"Know you hated him. Ain't no reason to sugarcoat that."

The Irishman shook his head and then turned around, so his back connected with the landing stage and he could face the lake.

"'s not how I meant it. It's just...It's not new ta me. The stuff you just told me" he said.

He took a deep breath and got lost in thoughts for a moment.  
Daryl could see how his adam's apple bobbed up and down while his friend gathered his thoughts.

"Back when Murph died I..."

Connor cleared his throat and shifted.

"Shit, how do I put this..." he muttered and then chewed on his bottom lip for a while. When he finally looked at Daryl he still looked at bit worried.

"Well, y'know how I was. Seriously didn't know how ta live with it. Being on my own all of a sudden. I mean going from being a brother ta being on your own is pretty tough shit. And it was also even more fucked up for me cos me and Murph never spent a second apart but..Apart from all that confusion there was also..relief I guess?"

Daryl raised an eyebrow but waited for his friend to go on.

"It's not like _that_. I'm not glad he died. I would've died fer him. I'd have done anything for him and 't was my job ta protect him cos I always considered myself the older brother but...as soon as he was gone there was a tiny part of me that was relieved because I didn't have to be responsible anymore? That I didn't have ta take care of anyone but myself? If that makes sense?"

Daryl knew what his friend was aiming at but decided not to comment on it, because they were heading for dangerous whiny talk territory now. Unmanly feelings bullshit talk. And although Merle was dead he could still hear him make fun of them because of the situation they were currently in.

"Although I did fuck up that taking care of meself part _big time_ " Connor said and chuckled to himself like it was a funny and not horrible memory.

"The feeling bad about it 's the survivor's guilt I guess."

"I don't feel guilty about nothing" Daryl grumbled and turned his head to look in the other direction to hide the fact that he was lying.

"Of course ye do. And if ye don't feel guilty and if ye feel fine about everything then you gotta get yer head checked, cos _that_ ain't normal" Connor answered and then hauled himself out of the water so he could sit on the landing stage to dry.

"Yeah well, I had the choice and I chose to keep going. Ain't nothing to feel guilty about" Daryl growled.

Connor offered him a hand to pull him out of the water as well but the hunter just stared at his friend.

"Before we get goin I want us t'be straight 'bout it, alright?"

Connor frowned and wouldn't withdraw.

"About what?"

"Merle" Daryl growled and the Irishman sighed.

"Jesus, I thought we was done with that shit now."

"We are. Just wanna make something clear."

Connor wouldn't say anything to that and just waited for his friend to go on.

"He wanted t'go after me just like you did. Ain't nothing wrong with that. He knocked you out and walked off on his own.  
So it obviously ain't your fault. And I don't blame yah for his death, alright?"

The Irishman finally withdrew his hand and sighed. He grabbed his shirt, jeans and shoes to get dressed again.

"Aye" he muttered as he fought with his jeans because they stuck to his wet legs.

The hunter nodded.

"And there's no way 'n hell I could've known that shit. And there ain't no way I could've stopped any of it from happenin."

The Irishman nodded once more.

"Aye. 's what I've been trying ta tell ye all the time" he said and then pulled his shirt over his head.

The hunter nodded.

"I know. Ain't the point. Let me finish. It's this Governor freak's fault and I took care of it. So that part's done.  
And I could've done the same shit you did to yourself after your bro died, but I chose to do the opposite.  
Bullet could've killed me easily but I -chose- to survive to be on my own without Merle."

He looked at Connor for a moment and waited for his friend to say something to that, but the blonde remained silent.

"Punchline is that we ain't got nothing in common here. I handled this shit differently and 'm gonna live with it just fine. So there ain't no need for you dumbass to keep askin me about it all the time. If we're gonna make it to Augusta t'gether, then you ain't gonna mention it again. And you're not gonna ask me how I 'feel' about it or some crap like that, alright? 'm just fine. We're gonna be Zen about it."

The Irishman moved his hands in the air with a gentle sigh and shrugged.

"Whatever tickles yer fancy. You can lead a horse to water but ye can't make it drink" he muttered and Daryl nodded.

"We good?" he asked and Connor offered him a hand again.

"Aye. We're good."

The Irishman was just about to pull his friend out of the water when a piercing shriek startled them both.  
The men listened up for a second and then identified the screams as the ones of a woman who obviously needed their help.  
Connor and Daryl looked at each other in confusion, and there it was again.

"HELP ME! PLEASE!"

They could hear it echo all the way across the lake.

Connor turned around and started running, Daryl now completely forgotten and alone in the water.

"Leprechaun!" the hunter yelled after his friend and tried to get out of the water just as fast as his friend, but his soaked clothes were too heavy to make it that easy for him.

"Come on, man! Wait for me!" he yelled after his friend, but Connor had already disappeared to run for whoever needed their help.


	6. Memory

**Murphy's Dream**  
_**Day Zero**  
_ _**335 Days ago...** _

**July 26th, 2008 - Apartment building, Port Of Boston  
**

He had been listening to the screaming, sobbing, begging and crying for hours now.

But no matter what he did, for some reason he couldn't do anything about it. His shoulder ached and he felt incredibly exhausted because of the blood loss, but it felt like the worst part was over. He was just lying there on the floor, his clothes sticky and stinking because of all the blood. And his brother wouldn't stop crying next to him. After what felt like hours or maybe even days of passing out and waking up again he could finally move his hand again, if only just a tiny bit. He knew it had been a while since he had ended up on this floor, because his blood was already crusty and smelt like rusted copper on his bitten shoulder. He just wanted his brother to stop crying because a) he hated to know that he was the cause for that and b) it annoyed the crap out of him, especially since he couldn't do anything about it.

He didn't know why he couldn't move, speak, blink or shift.  
He could hardly breathe and swallow, so he wasn't really surprised that his brother thought he was dead.

Except he wasn't. He didn't know why or how. He didn't even know who or what he was, all he knew was that he was still conscious.  
  
_Was he one of them now?_  
  
He couldn't really tell because he only felt his very swallow heartbeat. _How was he supposed to know if he was a walker?_  
Everything the walkers were applied to him as well. Barely breathing. Bloody. Stinking.  
Unable to speak and communicate. Unable to move freely. And he was _hungry_.

_No matter what he was, he was still -here. Conscious, aware, listening! Why wouldn't the other man get that?_

He couldn't really remember much because he was so confused and exhausted, but his guts told him that his brother was supposed to feel it.  
Feel and see that there was no reason to cry, because he was still there. He wasn't dead. It didn't matter if he was alive or undead.  
He just wasn't _dead_.

He remembered the request and promise.

_Shoot..me. 's...'s my dying wish._  
  
_I said no! No, yer my fuckin brother..no. I won't do that.._

And there it was. His brother wasn't granting him his dying wish. He didn't know if this was supposed to make him feel relieved or angry. _Of course he didn't want to be shot now that he was still conscious, but why the fuck had his brother decided not to shoot him as requested? Just because he wouldn't be there to judge him if he didn't? He didn't want to be shot, but what if Connor just left him here without shooting him and he would die a slow and painful death? Maybe of starvation, of dehydration because he could feel the thirst and hunger already?_

For a moment he was actually surprised that he could remember his brother's name.

Connor.

Of course, how could he ever forget.

_We know that you had a sibling. A brother. Dr Gregory told me not to tell you anything about your past because there could be a shock reaction, but we just can't wait any longer. You obviously have a hard time remembering things. Maybe you just need a little help there. Dr Gregory suggested that we should send an escort team out there as soon as you can tell us more details about your brother's last known location. It might not be too late yet. There is a high possibility that he could be immune to this infection as well._

He suddenly felt the presence of his brother who was sitting down right next to him, weird chuckling and sobbing noises exiting his mouth at the same time.

"I just remembered that you still owe me a fuckin cheeseburger" Connor said and started laughing, but it wasn't happy or normal laughter, it sounded miserable and creepy. "1994. We made a bet that I could cut up more cow tongues than you. I fuckin won and we said you'd have to pay for cheeseburgers as soon as we get our next loan."

He couldn't remember, but it wasn't like he could say anything to that anyway. So he just kept lying there on the ground, unmoving, clothes bloody, eyes closed, his entire body cold and numb with pain as he listened to Connor's crazy talk. He felt so sorry and miserable because he had to listen to how his brother absolutely lost it because of everything that had happened to him.

"You never bought me one. And we both forgot about it."

He felt how Connor gently nudged his shoulder but couldn't react to it either.

"So you still owe me one. And you can't just..."

Another violent sob suddenly escaped his mouth and it was silent until the next one could be heard.

"Oh fuck, Murph. Fuck fuck fuck this can't be hap..." but then he was back to weeping, and it nearly ripped his heart in two.

If he still could then he would have widened his eyes by now, because he suddenly didn't just remember his brother's name, he also remembered his own.

 _Connor_ was his brother. And he was _Murphy_. Murphy M...well, something, and he had been bitten by some blood thirsty monster. And it sounded like the undead hadn't just torn his shoulder apart, but also his brother's soul. He startled but didn't move when his brother suddenly got back on his feet and walked away with quick determined footsteps. _No, no don't walk away,_ Murphy just thought and tried to turn his head and look at his brother, but he was still paralyzed. All he could do was move and flex his fingers a bit, but neither his mouth nor legs would move. He tensed even more when he heard the clicking of the gun and Connor's breathing increased and got louder. Murphy didn't know what was going on, but he figured that his brother wasn't pointing the gun at his unmoving body, simply because it didn't feel like it and because he would come closer and press the muzzle right to his head.

So there was only the other option.

Although he couldn't remember shit right now he still knew one thing: he knew Connor and what he was willing to do when it was about him.

Connor screaming his name at the top of his lungs. The clicking of handcuffs on porcelain.  
The fluttering bathrobe high in the air, falling down down down.  
The unpleasant sound of a body hitting the asphalt after falling down five stories.

_Don't..kill yerself..Promise._

_We live together and we die together._

Connor was pointing the gun at himself.

Murphy tried even harder to move, although it seemed to be impossible.

 _No, no you can't do that! Connor!_ he kept yelling in his head, trying to build up the special thought connection they'd always had.  
But nothing was happening. He could still hear Connor's excited breathing, like he was really about to pull the trigger in a moment.

Murphy struggled even more, until he could really flex his right hand, the one with the Aequitas tattoo.

He needed to stop his stupid, _stupid_ brother from doing this. Even if he was a walker now, even if he was one of them, undead, forever staggering around and hungry for flesh and blood. Even if he was lost or whatever was going on with him after that fatal bite, he couldn't let his brother commit suicide because of that. Not after everything he'd asked him to do. Murphy kept struggling and flexed his hand again, and then he heard it.

"Murph?"

So they still had that connection. Murphy wanted to nod and respond but all he could was flex a few more muscles, and his aching body answered with a violent shiver that sent a wave of pain through his limbs and shoulder. "Murph!" Connor said again, and now it was obvious that he could see him move. Murphy wanted to cheer and cry because he was still there, because Connor was still there, because he had kept his twin from doing something stupid. Although he couldn't cheer or do anything like that his brother was doing it for him. Connor chuckled shakily and Murphy could hear footsteps, meaning that the blonde got closer.

"Jesus Christ Murph, I thought ye were dead" he heard him say and wanted to smile.

 _Me, too, Con. Me, too_ he answered in his head, hoping that Connor could still understand it.  
Although the slightly younger of the two brothers couldn't speak he finally managed to turn his head and opened his eyes only to see...

Nothing.

Or more like: _almost_ nothing. It felt like he was staring through dirty glasses, like they were covered with condensed water. Murphy blinked a couple of times and hoped that his blurred vision would clear, but nothing happened. He could only see his brother's blurry figure. All black clothes and messy hair. But he couldn't see his face, and he still couldn't talk. He was absolutely shocked and terrified.  
_  
I can't see...oh fuck, Connor, I can't see_! he tried to yell but only dry croaks and groans would escape his mouth.

His throat was simply too dry because he hadn't been able to swallow and drink for more than two days.

"Murph?" Connor asked again but just got another croak as answer, because no matter what his brother did, he couldn't speak.

But he did manage to get on his feet. Murphy was shaking and wavering a lot because he was so weak on his feet and his body still hadn't been able to reproduce all the blood he had lost. As he lifted his body up from the ground he felt the immense pain in his bitten neck and shoulder, and the movement opened the wound once more.

 _Maybe that's the reason why I can't speak_ , he thought because the wound happened to be very close to his throat. He thanked god that it wasn't too deep, because otherwise he would be dead and unable to walk in general. So maybe he couldn't speak. That wasn't the worst part. He just wanted to get back on his feet so he could get to Connor, his brother. Just like always. He followed where Connor went, and Connor was the one to solve all the problems, Connor was the one to make everything alright. And right now he didn't even care that he -was- the little brother. He just wanted Connor to fucking hold him, to let him know that they were still alive and that they would both make it.

"Murph, Brother, it's me. Connor" he heard his brother say, but once again only a painfilled groan and croak would escape his mouth.

 _I know! And it's me, Murph, don't you fuckin see that I'm trying to get to you? I need your help!_ he kept yelling in his mind, because this was the only way of communication he had left. He felt so confused because he didn't get why Connor wouldn't help him. _Okay, he got that his brother was devastated and exhausted from all his crying, but that had never kept him from helping him when he really needed him, had it?_  
  
Murphy kept staggering in Connor's direction, almost blinded, in pain and desperate for a connection. He reached out for his twin when he thought he was close but missed, and his breathing got louder and raspier with every step he took. The injury was still almost killing him and hurt more than anything the younger of the brothers had ever experienced in his entire life, but he kept going, stumbling closer and closer to Connor to get to him. No matter what.

 _Just twenty more steps, just nineteen..._ and because Connor still wouldn't help him he just got angry.

 _Help me ye fuckin bastard!_ he was yelling in his mind, but his twin wouldn't move an inch.

And then he heard the click again. Murphy tried to widen his eyes.

"And shepherds we shall be..." he heard Connor say, and Murphy tried to call out again.

 _No! Connor, it's me yah idiot!_ He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and tried to walk faster.  
Only raspy breaths and croaks escaped his mouth as he tried to answer, and he tried to get the gun in panic.  
But he couldn't see or talk, so he just waved his arms around, trying to knock the weapon out of his brother's hands in time.

_He just needed to get there!_

_Thirteen steps, twelve..._

"For the my lord for the..Power hath descended forth from thy hand. That our feet may swiftly carry out thy commands..."

He couldn't believe that _he_ was the one hearing the prayer now. That he seriously was about to get executed by his own _brother_.  
Murphy tried to walk faster but stumbled. He nearly fell to the ground and his head started spinning because he was so panicked,  
so shocked, so exhausted and so traumatized.

_No no no no. Connor couldn't just...he just needed to get there in time._

"Fuckin stop walking like that, Murph...please" Connor sobbed and hesitated, and maybe that was all his brother needed.

The younger of the two of them got even more aggressive. He was so _close_.

"So we shall flow a river forth to thee.."

His heart was pounding faster and faster.  
  
_Why the hell was he still so far away from Connor? Why was his twin stumbling away from him when only a couple of footsteps separated them?!_  
He cocked his head and tried begging his brother with a simple begging look on his face as he tried to form words but there were _still_ just incoherent croaks.

"Do you remember that prayer?" Connor asked, still sobbing but a tiny bit of hope showing in his voice.

Murphy got more confident and tried to nod, but he didn't even know where up and down was anymore.

"Yes!" he thought he was answering, but actually, it was just a loud incoherent squeak because his abused vocal cords wouldn't listen to his brain's commands.

"Please tell me ye remember it..please tell me ye remember me...fuckin don' be like them..." Connor sobbed and still sounded unsure, but now he was having another crying fit, and Murphy wasn't sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing.

Only four more steps separated them, and when Connor wouldn't do or say anything the younger of the two finally thought that he had made it.  
Now he just needed to get to Connor, and wrap his arms around him.

Maybe the nightmare was finally over.  
_  
Yes, it's me Con, it's me_ he thought and wanted to cry with his sibling, no matter how pathetic it was. The whole thing was way too traumatic and fucked up to be manly about it. He had been bit and just for a moment Connor had been about to shoot him. But he was close now, too close to be shot by his own brother, and Connor just HAD to see that he was still in here, in this walking body, that he wasn't going to attack him like all the other walkers. He just wanted to be with him again.

"And teeming with souls shall it ever be. In Nomine Patris et Filii..."

Murphy was so _close_ , but this phrase made him stop walking in pure horror.  
Connor didn't recognize him. Didn't recognize his _own_ living and begging brother.  
And now he was pointing the gun right at his head.

"I love ye Murph" he heard Connor sob in the most pathetic and inhuman way, but he couldn't say anything, couldn't do anything, and he didn't even feel the same thing.

In his head he was screaming and fighting for his life as he kept yelling for his brother to stop, but his body just froze right then and there, too shocked and paralyzed because of what was about to happen. And although Connor had said that he loved him he didn't feel love, he only felt one thing: Heartbreak and utter betrayal. Connor never meant betrayal. Connor never meant heartbreak. Connor meant _home_ and _safe haven_.

 _Protector_ , not _murderer_.

But their connection, their life, their unity, it was gone. Connor no longer connected with him because of that bite, and Connor was going to _kill_ him.

"Et Spiritius Sancti" he heard the man in front of him whisper, then there was a loud bang, his ears were ringing, his head was thrown back and he felt an incredibly intense pain on the left side of his forehead. Just for a split second he felt something hot and burning enter his brain and sending shockwaves right through it. The last thing he remembered was the feeling of betrayal and pain. Then everything went black.

* * *

**_**Right after Murphy's dream,** _ **

_**316 Days Ago...**_ ** _ ****_**  
  
August 14th, 2008, 5:12 am - Hanscom Air Force Base, Boston

Murphy sat up with a loud scream and looked around the room in sheer terror. He let out another groan when he noticed how his left wrist burned with pain and turned his head to see what was up with that. It was still chained to the metal bed frame, and when he turned his head once more he noticed all the medical utensils, the furniture and the chair next to his bed.

_Gregory's surgery._

_Right._

He let out another gentle moan and then placed his free hand to his burning forehead, the side where he could feel the ugly dent and scar.  
He felt how sudden tears shot to his eyes because he remembered _that_ day, what had happened to him and _who_ had caused that wound on his head.

_Connor._

Connor had shot him in the head although he had been _begging_ for his life.

He buried the heel of his right hand in his eye and started rubbing it tiredly and miserably. His heart was still pounding in his chest like it was about to jump out of there. It wasn't like he'd never had this dream before. He'd been dreaming about getting shot and bit pretty much every night ever since he'd managed to get to this base, but this happened to be the very first time that he actually remembered the person involved. The first time he remembered dialogue, actions, and feelings.

And the feelings hurt.

He understood why Dr Gregory had been so keen on keeping everything from him, to stop all the soldiers who knew him and his past from talking. But they didn't need to talk anymore, because he remembered. He remembered his name. He remembered his brother's name. He remembered his brother's _deed_.

Murphy looked at his free shaky hand and stared at the tattoo on his finger. _Aequitas._ He still couldn't remember its meaning. There were a lot of things that seemed to be lost forever. His childhood. His past prior the outbreak. Names and faces of friends and locations. His favorite food and drinks, his favorite color and hobbies. So many things were lost, all the good things, and yet he remembered the worst day of his life now. Like it had happened less than 24 hours ago. And although he knew that his brother probably had not meant to shoot him if he'd known that he was still alive, he just couldn't fight the feelings that were coming back now.

 _I love you, Murph_ , those words were ringing in his ears, but he felt nothing but disgust. It felt like the very last emotion and they very last thought he'd had before he had been shot had imprinted itself on every cell of his abused brain, burned itself into it with every inch the bullet had entered his head. Fired in there, and stuck forever. He felt nothing but hatred, disappointment and betrayal when he recalled Connor's voice. He tried not to feel that way because Connor was his brother, but he just couldn't bring himself to change his feelings. No matter what he did, it wouldn't go away. The bullet hadn't just destroyed his ability to hold a pen and write. It had destroyed any sort of _trust_ he had ever felt.

Murphy lay back down on his bed and stared at the ceiling while moving his cuffed hand up and down to hear the clacking of metal.  
Truth was that he didn't want to remember anything now. And he regretted his prior desire to learn what had happened to him.  
It just made him feel sick and quite frankly, even worse than before he had remembered.

About one thing he was absolutely certain. Although there was a part of him that wanted to see Connor one more time, there was no way he would tell Simmons about the location where he had been shot. He didn't want to get back there, he didn't want to see Connor after that, and he didn't want anyone to know that he remembered. This topic was done now. Getting shot in the head by thugs was tragic and people had pitied him enough because of that, but getting shot by your own brother was way worse. He certainly didn't want to hear anything about it.

Ever.

Murphy turned his head again to look at his cuffed arm with a frown.

One way to keep people from asking questions and pitying him was to get the hell out of this place, just like he had been planning to do before his violent nightmare. He turned his head in the other direction to let his gaze wander. _Maybe he could find something to get rid of these handcuffs?_

He frowned even more when he finally noticed that it was pretty dark in the room he was being kept in. Only a faint shimmer of light was shining through the windows that faced the hangar, and when he lifted his head a bit he saw that the sun was rising already. He'd fallen asleep a couple of hours ago and Simmons still wasn't back yet, and for some reason there was no light in here. Which was weird, because Gregory always kept the generators running and there was always light.

No matter what was going on out there, he was more worried about himself _in_ here. Murphy shifted closer to the edge of the bed when he noticed a bunch of paper clips on the table close to his bed. He had no idea if this really worked or how it worked, but he remembered seeing it in the movies and maybe this was his only way to get rid of the cuffs. The younger MacManus brother shifted further towards the edge and tried to get one of the clips, but of course. Once again he was reminded that this wasn't a movie. He couldn't reach it, and even if he did, he wasn't even sure if he could actually grasp it. But he still kept trying and leaned out of the bed more and more, until his cuffed wrist started aching as the metal buried itself in his delicate flesh.

"Ah jesus, fuck, come on!" he growled and kept reaching out for it.

Just for a second his finger brushed it.

"Yes!" Murphy grunted, only to let out a frustrated groan when he lost grip of the pin and it landed on the floor.

"Oh, fuck you!" he exclaimed and started kicking like a madman, because he couldn't believe how unlucky he was these days.

Footsteps made him freeze right where he was. He could hear them coming closer and closer, and judging by the sound - those were proper army boots. And the constant clicking of metal hitting metal told him everything he needed to know. There was someone from the army coming. With army boots and a rifle.

_Maybe this was Simmons?_

Murphy sat back up and waited for the lights to be turned on, but nothing happened.  
The footsteps were coming closer and closer, until he could finally see the man.  
The younger MacManus gritted his teeth and tensed.

"Te fuck ye doing here?" he growled and locked at Zach, who was now standing by the door and folded his arms with a strange smirk on his face.

"My turn to watch over you, paddy. What'd you think?"

Murphy narrowed his eyes at the other man and moved a bit further away from the door, hands clenched to tight fists. His eyes shot back and forth between Zach and the window, hoping to see Dr Gregory or Simmons come here as well. But nothing would happen. He was all alone with Zach, and the lights were still out. It wasn't like he was afraid of the dark. It just crept him out because it was never a good sign. Zach suddenly started chuckling and moved closer to Murphy, much to the latter's discomfort.

"What's wrong? I thought we had 'a connection', Dave?" Zach said and then sat down on the chair that Simmons had abandoned just a couple of hours ago.

Murphy was properly sitting now, back pressed against the wall, fists ready to start boxing as soon as Zach decided to get too close.

"Fuck off" the younger MacManus growled and glared at the man who was way too close for his taste now.

Zach obviously seemed to enjoy the discomfort he was causing, because he wouldn't stop grinning at Murphy.  
He placed a hand on his helmet and lifted it off his head, and this was when the dark-haired MacManus twin finally noticed the blood on the man's clothes.

"The fuck's going on out there?" he asked but wouldn't keep his eyes off Zach.

The man leaned forward which made Murphy tense even more. The soldier moved a hand through his messy hair and sighed.

"There's...a bit of a change of plans out there" he said, then they heard a loud explosion and gunshots as well as screams outside.

"What the fuck?" Murphy exclaimed and turned his head to look out of the window.

Zach used this moment to get even closer.  
He got up and approached Murphy, who startled and automatically tried to punch him.

"Fuck off!" he yelled once more and just when his fist was about to connect with the other man's jaw Zach suddenly grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

He grinned again and shook his head.

"Relax, jerk off. I got orders. Get you outta this mess"

Another explosion, more screams. The Murphy remembered the talk about the gate earlier.  
He tried to keep fighting Zach as the man started fumbling with his cuffs.

"Don't think I see right through yer shit, yah retard. Fuck off" he growled once more but Zach wouldn't give in.

"Don't think I didn't hear yah talk about me with yer buddy Jimmy."

Zach froze right then and there and stared at Murphy, who glared back at him.

"Simmons and the girls. I know fuckin everything. And I ain't fuckin afraid'a you, asshole" the younger MacManus went on, and the two men gave in to an intense staredown.

For just a moment Murphy felt really pleased with himself because he had finally told Zach that he had him right by his balls.  
Although he knew that it had been foolish to reveal it so soon.  
Especially when he was still cuffed to a fucking bed with the enemy right next to him.  
Zach suddenly smirked at him again.

"Damn right you heard that. Good to know" he said and Murphy frowned, because the reaction caught him off guard. He had expected him to be angry, surprised, that he was going to deny it. But they just stared at each other for a good minute longer. Another hail of bullets caught them off guard, and Murphy turned his head just for a second more, and this was all Zach needed. Without a warning he suddenly grabbed the pillow from the bed, wrestled the cuffed MacManus twin back into the mattress and pressed the pillow to his face before the other man got a chance to fight back.

"I ain't gonna let no fucking cure destroy what I can have now!" he suddenly yelled with sheer anger vibrating in his voice.

Murphy kept yelling just as much, but the pillow muffled his protests. He kept fighting as hard as he could, but it was useless with just one hand and the other still being cuffed to the bed frame. The clacking of metal was echoing through the room because the younger MacManus was struggling so violently. He kept fighting the hands and pillow that was suffocating him.

"I was a fuckin nobody before shit went down!" Zach went on.

"I had soldiers spit on me, laugh at me and call me chick names because they were fucking bored of this goddamn same shit every day!  
And now I got civilians look up to me, chicks are running into my arms and they think I'm the fuckin hero for once!  
And you ain't gonna take that away from me!"

Murphy managed to grab one of his arms and started scratching, hitting and pinching him as hard as he could, but Zach wouldn't give in.  
He was pressing the pillow to his face so hard that the younger MacManus feared that he could break his nose,  
and he only managed to catch breath for a second before the fight went on.

"They ain't even gonna know it was me! 'm just gonna make it look like your headshot finally killed yah, like it should've! Weeks ago!"

"Let me go!" Murphy roared through the pillow, panic getting more and more present.

Once again he felt his heart pounding in his chest as he feared for his life, his face covered in sweat because of the intense heat underneath the pillow.

And he couldn't _breathe._

 _Oh fuck, he couldn't just suffocate after surviving a bite and a fucking headshot wound, could he?_  
He started buckling, kicking and fighting like a madman to get Zach off, but he could already feel how his energy got drained because of the lack of oxygen.

_If only he could just get rid of these fucking handcuffs!_

He pulled as hard as he could but felt nothing but pain. Neither the cuffs nor his wrist would give in.  
_And fuck, it was so hard to breathe!_

"Me, Jimmy and the guys we're gonna take care of this place a whole lot better than Simmons or any of you fuckheads ever did. With you it'd just be a matter of time until you got any of us killed. You already murdered Ashley you sick fuck! You just need to be..fucking GONE! Oh fuck, why don't you just die already?!" Zach was properly yelling by now and kept pressing the pillow even more to his face. Murphy smelled and tasted nothing but dirty, hot and wet cotton now, and it was only a matter of seconds until he would lose his consciousness.

Just like any other time in his life his mind automatically started screaming for the only person he had ever trusted with his life.

 _Connor!_ he was begging in his mind, and just for a moment he wasn't fighting a pillow but a gun. _Why was everyone trying to fucking kill him?_  
And although he was struggling and fighting with all the strength he could gather he suddenly couldn't hold back the angry tears anymore.  
In his mind it kept stabbing him like a sharp knife in his kidneys.

_Betrayal! Betrayal! Betrayal!_

_Connor, 'm right fuckin here! Help me!_

He finally couldn't do it anymore and heard Zach's manic yelling and insults. He already welcomed the darkness. At least he could finally _go._

A loud BANG! suddenly startled him, and a second later he could feel the heavy weight of a man right on top of him. He smelled burned iron, flesh and blood, and when there was no more pressure to the pillow he fought it off with a violent gasp. His black hair was wet from all the sweat and stuck to his forehead, and when the pillow was finally gone he started coughing. His heart was pounding heavily in his chest that was heaving, and for a moment he actually thought... _What if Connor had finally heard him? What if he was back? What if he had finally saved him?_

He turned his head only to be utterly disappointed. Of course it wasn't Connor.  
And although he didn't want it to be that way, his heart just broke all over again.

He was staring at Simmons with wide eyes. The Major was standing there, gun still smoking and high in the air. His clothes were blood spattered and his eyes were wide open, and there was an ugly laceration on his left temple. Murphy let out a terrified gasp and then started coughing again, and when he looked down on himself he saw that Zach was lying across him, with a large and bloody hole in the back of his head.

Simmons finally approached him and lifted the dead weight off of him.  
For a second both men stared at each other in pure shock, then Simmons reached for the keys to Murphy's cuffs.

"We need to get you out of here."


	7. Intruders

"HELP ME! OH GOD, PLEASE HELP ME!"

Connor cursed under his breath as he ran right past the house to get to the nearby woods where the screaming was coming from. It was disgusting to run like that, because his body and briefs were still wet from swimming. His jeans and shirt stuck to him that way and made it awkward to move. And as if this wasn't annoying enough the woman had to keep screaming like a gutted pig, which certainly wouldn't just draw him and Daryl in, it was only a matter of time until walkers and other survivors would get to her as well.

So much for going on a quiet holiday.

"Leprechaun! Come on, man! Wait for me!" he heard Daryl yell somewhere behind him, but he wouldn't slow down at all.

Judging by the pitch of her voice the woman was in some real trouble, and although he had grown far more cautious during the past year there was no way he was going to let a woman suffer and not rescue her. Connor zigzagged his way through the maze of trees and ran up the close hill, only to stop for a moment so he could listen up. There was nothing for a while, and just when he was about to call out the woman started screaming again, louder than ever.

"HELP!"

The Irishman turned his head abruptly and stared to his right, and it really sounded like the woman was somewhere in that direction. He couldn't hear Daryl anymore and figured that he had outrun him. _Since when could he possibly outrun Daryl fucking Dixon?_ he wondered, but there was no time to really ponder on that, because the woman wouldn't shut up.

He started running again and although he wanted to call out for her he decided not to do it. It wasn't the first time that he was crossing paths with women or children in trouble, like last year in Fort Benning when he'd walked in on a mass murder by what was left of the army. He knew now that it was best to keep quiet first so he could check out the situation instead of running into something unpleasant.

After running for maybe a minute longer he finally found the woman in need, and he was 'pleasantly' surprised to see that she was neither being raped nor getting attacked by a walker. Connor was now facing a petite redhead, who was sitting on the ground, both her hands pressed to her left leg with tears in her eyes. The woman wasn't just screaming for help, she was also wailing in pain because her leg was stuck in a bear trap.

The Irishman cursed and had a look around to see if there was anyone else or maybe walkers around, but it was just her. All on her own.   
Trapped and helpless. He still wanted to keep hiding so he could wait for Daryl as back up, but it was already too late.

The woman was in the middle of another screaming session when she suddenly saw him and widened his eyes.

"Fuck" Connor hissed and tried to hide behind a tree.

"Oh thank god! Please, you gotta help me!" she begged and Connor growled.

He stepped out of the shadows and grabbed his knife and gun while approaching her slowly and carefully, eyes constantly switching back and forth between the heap of misery that was the woman, as well as their surroundings.

"I can only help you if ye shut it. Gotta keep quiet, alright? We don't want any of those lamebrains ta hear you" he hissed and turned around when he heard a creaking branch behind him. He worried about the walkers the most right now, but not because he feared for his own life. No, it was because he didn't fancy a bloody mess, another amputated leg or a panicking woman who was about to get eaten alive because she couldn't get out there and because he didn't have a clue how to open a fucking bear trap.

Speaking of traps. He turned around to see where his friend was, who happened to be an expert hunter.  
He might be better with the ladies, but Daryl knew how to figure that sort of shit out.  
Except that he couldn't see the hunter anywhere.

 _Fuck, where the hell was Daryl?_ _Was that bastard still in the lake and couldn't get out of there because there was no ladder or something?_

Connor turned his head again so he could look at the sobbing injured woman.

"How te fuck did you manage t'get yerself stuck like that, woman?"

He asked and approached her. He was about five more steps away from her when his day took a turn for the worse.   
When the Irishman placed his left foot on the underbrush he suddenly heard a strange click, which made him look down.   
Just then he heard the sound of a rope scraping along wood somewhere above him.

"Oh shi.." he tried to say, but it was already too late. A tight rope strapped itself around his left ankle. All the Irishman could do was let out a surprised gasp when his left leg was pulled back, which made him fall to the ground with an awkward grunt. The rope kept pulling on his leg with such a force and speed that he couldn't fight it or even realize what was happening. He was dragged back across the forest floor, and then he found himself hanging from a tree. Upside down, left leg tied up, right leg hanging at a weird angle, his shirt slowly sliding down his chest.

"What the fuck?!" he exclaimed and started kicking and moving, but it was useless.

He was trapped.

He was looking at the woman whose head was suddenly upside down. And the ground was the sky and the sky was the ground. He felt how the blood surged to his head because of the new position he found himself in, and soon he could hear it pumping and roaring in his ears. Connor was even more surprised when he saw how the woman wiped her nose with a nonchalant sniff and got back on her feet. She opened the bear trap like it was nothing, and although it was hard to see when he was hanging upside down like that Connor could still see that her leg wasn't injured at all. There was just..red stuff on it. _Fake_ stuff.

"Oh that's simple " the red haired woman said and then smiled at him.

"I didn't get stuck at all."

* * *

"Leprechaun!" Daryl yelled once more and finally managed to get out of the water.

He was dripping wet and shook his arms and legs, a lazy attempt to get rid of _some_ water.  
When he finally looked up again he saw that Connor was long since gone.

"Son of a bitch" the hunter growled and then jogged down the landing stage, so he could back inside the house, where his crossbow was still waiting for him. He did have a gun and a knife on him, but he never really trusted those weapons when it came to incidents like this. There was no way he was going anywhere near a screaming woman in danger when he didn't have a decent weapon on him.

Daryl stormed inside the living room and got his beloved crossbow that was still lying on the table. He was busy putting a couple arrows in it when he got startled by noise that was coming from the garage. He froze right where he was and frowned. He had seen Connor disappear in the woods. The Irishman had made his way right _past_ the house to get to the screaming woman right away, hadn't he? He heard another bang which sounded like someone had closed the trunk of their car. Then he heard the voice.

"Shit" it said, and Daryl was even more surprised when he realized that it was a woman's voice. He grabbed his crossbow tight and snuck up to the door that led to the garage. He managed to press his back against the wall just in time, because about a second later the door suddenly opened and a blackhaired woman stepped out of the garage to head for the living room.

Daryl was quite baffled to see that she was walking around like that, guard down and unsuspecting as she kept talking to herself and walked right past his hideout.

"I told her that that fucker's not going to have that..."

"I'd stay right there if I were you" the hunter greeted the woman and pointed the tip of his arrow at her back. She startled violently.

"FUCK! I thought it was just..." she exclaimed and automatically reached for her gun that she was keeping in her jeans, but Daryl clicked his tongue and shook his head.

"Nah-ah-ah. You better move those up in the air, Missy. Where I can see 'em. No tricks. Mine's bigger than yours."

The woman snorted but obeyed. Daryl approached her in the meantime to get her gun while keeping his crossbow pointed at her back.

"You really gotta start a conversation with how big it is?"

"You like breaking into other people's homes?" Daryl countered and checked her gun, only to put it in the back of his jeans.

"Could ask you the same. I doubt a redneck like you'd live in a house like this" the woman said and slowly turned around so she could face the man who was pointing a weapon at her back.

"Not very wise to get all cocky with a man who could shoot your ass any second, lady" the hunter snarled and eyed her head to toe with an angry frown.

She just looked back at him and seemed far too amused and relaxed for his liking, which made Daryl even more conspicuous.

"What the hell do you want here?"

"Going on a little vacation. What's it look like to you?" she said and kept smirking.

"Don't go all smartass on me" Daryl muttered and they both startled when they heard some more yelling coming from the woods.

"LET ME GO YOU FUCKIN BITCH!" they heard someone yell, and that someone was unmistakably Connor.   
His brogue was far worse when he was pissed off and yelling like that.

Daryl turned his head just for a moment to try to locate his friend, and that was enough for the woman to react. She suddenly darted forward and grabbed the hunter's crossbow while trying to kick his leg, but much to her surprise the hunter was actually faster than her. He held on to his crossbow and used it to shove it forward, which caused the woman to lose her balance.   
  
She missed his leg and started tumbling, and it took Daryl just one more shove to send her on her ass. She didn't get the chance to defend herself because then the hunter was already back on her, crossbow pointed at her head and ready to shoot should she start attacking him again. The woman let out a frustrated sigh, rested both her hands on her bent legs.

"Great" she growled and finally capitulated.

* * *

Daryl followed the woman through the woods. They were heading for the place where he could still hear his friend yell about, and now that he knew about the women he wasn't exactly surprised that Connor was doing it. Of course he had to be the idiot who got his ass beat by a fucking woman. Although he couldn't even see the mess yet Daryl still had to roll his eyes. He knew about his friend's ' _no women, no kids_ ' rule, but it looked like those women knew about rules like that as well. And they knew how to take advantage of that knowledge.

She had told him all about herself and her accomplice on their way to Connor. What they were doing, how they were doing it, why they were doing it. Apparently her name was Zoey and she was working with an other woman called Kimberly. Their speciality? Fooling loners and robbing them blind. Zoey had told him that they would always split up. One played the damsel in distress, the other jumped the guy when she got the chance or she would, like in their case, use the time to loot whatever their victims brought with them.

He looked at the woman who was still walking in front of him and didn't know whether he should feel disgusted or impressed. He thought it was pretty cruel and nasty to rob unsuspecting people like that, especially when food and ammo was scarce. But he still had to acknowledge their smartness and their ability to make seeming disadvantages like petiteness and the fact that they had a pair of breasts an advantage.

It didn't take too long until they finally reached the spot where the other woman and Connor were, and Daryl couldn't hold back the gentle snort that escaped his mouth when he saw his friend. Great, so the dumbass had managed to get himself hung up on a tree like a Christmas ornament.

_Oh he was going to make fun of him because of that for a looong time._

The woman who held his friend captive had not noticed the two of them yet and was busy taunting Connor, who still wouldn't shut up and kept struggling. She was standing right behind the Irishman, with her back turned on Daryl and her partner as she searched Connor's clothes for anything useful. The hunter let his gaze wander for a second to make sure that there were no more surprises waiting for the two of them. All he could see was the bodies of a couple of dead walkers on the ground. He was pretty sure that more of them would be coming soon, but it wasn't like he and his friend had to worry about that. No, right now they just had to worry about these two little thieves.

"You wouldn't believe how easy it is to fake shit with all the stuff we got from this film studio.   
I gotta say, I don't blame you that you fell for that. Certainly my best work so far" Kimberly said as she kept searching Connor.

Daryl noticed the bear trap on the ground. It actually was the real deal, but the sticky red slime on it seemed to be fake blood.

"Oh, fuck you! Let me down!" the Irishman exclaimed in his fit of rage and tried to use all the muscles he had to lift his upper body up so he could free his tied leg, but Kimberly wouldn't let him. She grabbed him by his torso and then let her hands travel up which, in his case, meant down his body.

"Nice gun you got there, cowboy" the redhaired woman noticed and grabbed the gun from Connor's belt.

"Don't you fuckin touch that!" the Irishman roared and got even more angry, because now she was touching his brother's gun.

Back when they had returned to Woodbury after the war at the prison Connor had actually found them again, stored in Woodbury's armory after they had taken them from him the day Daryl had found Merle. The hunter tensed and aimed the crossbow at her, ready to shoot the woman should she decide to harm his friend with his own gun. He thought that he still had everything under control, and relaxed a bit when he saw how the woman continued to hold the gun but lowered it. But still.   
  
The fact that she had a gun when his friend was unable to defend himself meant serious business.   
He was just waiting for the right opportunity to reveal the fact that he was right there.   
She just needed to shift a bit more, because he didn't exactly want to hit his friend with an arrow.

"I said you don't fuckin touch that! I swear t'fuckin god, I once said I'd never hurt a woman, but I think 'm gonna screw that if you don't keep yer mits off that thing" Connor snapped and struggled even more.

"Come on, don't be like that. I promise that if you stop struggling, we can make this worth your while" Kimberly said and leaned forward, so she could get closer to Connor's face which was bright red by now. But not because he was embarrassed, it was red because of all the blood that was now gathered in his head because of his hanging position. And he got redder with every second that he got angrier with the woman.

But she obviously seemed to enjoy herself, because she let her hands travel further up to the Irishman's hips and bottom.

Daryl's mind went blank for a moment as he watched the scenario, then he felt a sudden wave of extreme anger rush over him. He was actually quite confused and taken off guard by his own rage. When he had seen her hold a gun and the Irishman had obviously been in danger he'd kept his cool, and now the woman just needed to touch the blonde like that and he saw red. He watched how the touch went from searching to something purposely more flirtatious and intimate, and it didn't just made Connor explode, it also made him explode.

"Fuck off!" Connor yelled and struggled, whereas Daryl gritted his teeth and clenched his fists around his crossbow.

The situation escalated when Zoey, who had been watching the whole scenario just as baffled, suddenly decided to call out.

"Kim, watch out!" she shouted, shock showing in her voice.

Kimberly turned her head abruptly and raised Connor's weapon, but once again Daryl was faster. He was so pissed at her and wanted her to keep her disgusting mits off his friend that he shot an arrow at her hand before she got the chance to point the gun at him. The arrow traveled right through her palm, which caused her to drop the gun. The woman let out a surprised shriek and then started screaming in pain and shock, but not without looking at her abused hand first. The arrow was still stuck in there and the wound wouldn't start bleeding right away.

"You fuckin monster!" Zoey yelled and tried to turn around so she could punch the hunter's face, but Daryl pointed his crossbow at her as well.

"You take your friend and get the hell outta here!" he spat because he was finally fed up with their games.

"Fuckin finally!" Connor exclaimed and tried to get the rope to twist so he could face his friend.

For the second time today Daryl was really surprised by his own actions, and part of him didn't even understand what the fuck had just happened. Whatever the fuck it had been, at least he knew one thing for sure: no one got to put their filthy hands on the leprechaun. At least as long as he was around. Kimberly was still wailing in pain, and when Zoey rushed to help her she suddenly got angry as well and grabbed a knife from her boots.

"You fuckin...!" she yelled and ran right at Daryl, knife ready to stab, arrow still stuck in her hand. But the hunter stayed where he was and pointed his crossbow right at her chest.

"You stay right there or the next thing 'm gonna shoot won't be your hand, yah hear me?" he snapped and Kimberly froze.

She still looked extremely pissed and furious, but she refrained from attacking him. She just snorted.

"You ain't just gonna shot someone in cold blood. You'd have killed Zoey and me ages ago otherwise, asshole" she snapped back, pain more and more obvious in her voice.

"Try me" Daryl snarled and glared at her. The crossbow stayed where it was, pointed right at her heart rather than her head.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? That's my girlfriend you're pointing your thing at!   
In case you didn't notice: we don't want to hurt you both, you fuckin psycho!   
We just wanted to steal your shit and.."

"Shut up, Zoey" Kimberly interrupted her girlfriend and wouldn't stop looking at Daryl, who was just looking at the women, completely still and ready to react.

"But you can't just...!" the black-haired woman protested, but Kimberly wouldn't let her finish.

"I said shut up!" she spat and then raised both her injured and armed hands.

"Alright. We're leaving...this...never happened" she said to Daryl and started walking backwards.

"You don't have to do this" she went on and dragged her girlfriend with her, who didn't seem to like the idea of just leaving.   
But the two women kept walking like that, eyes fixed on Daryl, walking backwards, while the hunter followed their movements with his crossbow.

And he was actually shocked when he realized that there was a tiny part of him that wanted to shoot them. Just so he could get rid of some of that frustration and anger that kept eating him up these days. He tried to calm down and reminded himself that he was never going to do that, because he wasn't like Merle or the people from Woodbury. Angry or not. But it was pretty hard not to do it right now, because he was so pissed.

"I suggest you take those to some other retards and ambush them" he said and kept pointing his arrow at the woman's heaving chest, finger on the trigger, just in case.

"Fuck you!" Zoey spat and tried to get to him again, but Kimberly still wouldn't let her.

"Pick that up" she demanded instead and pointed at the bear trap. Zoey did it after giving her girlfriend an angry glare, and after keeping an eye on Daryl for a little while longer the two women finally started running. The hunter watched them leave until he couldn't see them anymore, but he still kept his crossbow ready in case they came back.

He turned his head when he heard Connor grunt. Somehow the Irishman had managed to heave himself back up. He was holding on to his tied leg with awkward gasps as he tried to cut the rope with the tiny pocket knife he always kept in his shoe. For a moment the hunter had to acknowledge the fact how strong his friend had really become, considering how much strength it took to get himself back in an upright position like that and holding on for so long while cutting a rope.

After a couple of more abrupt movements with the knife the Irishman finally managed to cut himself free and fell on his back with a loud and pain filled gasp.

"Jesus fuckin Christ" he exclaimed and looked up at the sky while trying to gather his strength and breath.

"What te fuck was that" the older of the two friends went on and Daryl finally lowered his crossbow.

"You alright?" he asked and approached the Irishman, who sat up and started rubbing his left ankle.

"Aye. Fuckin bitch just caught me off guard's all" he growled and seemed extremely pissed because of the attack.

"Let's go before they come back with back-up" the hunter muttered and then gave his friend a hand to help him up.

As soon as he'd made sure that Connor was back on his feet he walked past him so he could avoid any further eye contact.

The Irishman cleaned his jeans, grabbed his gun from the ground and then freed his ankle from the rope. He'd always liked rope and thought that it was a very useful thing, but just for a moment he decided to hate it because it had been _too_ fucking useful today. Getting him trapped and hung on a tree like a pig in a meat locker certainly _wasn'_ t a good thing about rope.

"You were pretty rough with them. If that woman hadn't just fuckin molested me, then I'd give you shit fer that, but right now I gotta say...well fucking done, man. Well fucking done" Connor said and looked at the cut rope, only to decide that it couldn't exactly do any harm when they took it with them. Because you never knew when you were going to need it. He looked up only to see that Daryl was already gone and heading for the hill that led back to the house where they kept the car and the rest of their stuff.

"Hey, wait fer me!" he called out and followed his friend, confused because of the lack of words or a reaction.

"Then move your ass! I don't want more people to come!" Daryl snapped and couldn't control his fit of rage any longer.

He walked even faster to get away from his friend, because he needed to be on his own for a moment, so he could make something of what the fuck had just happened, what he'd done and thought. He knew that Connor could give him shit for hurting a woman, because he was pretty much the same there and because he would give himself shit for that as well. But he'd overreacted and he couldn't change that now anyway. All he could do was forget the reason why he'd done it so it wouldn't happen again, although this was going to be quite hard.

He knew what had happened now. The reason for his reaction had been sheer _jealousy_. Nothing more. And he hated to admit that. He'd -known- that these women weren't dangerous and that they certainly wouldn't have harmed or killed them. They had been way too weak for that. But he'd shot her to keep her from touching Connor, and not just touching in general, but to actually keep her from touching his friend like _that_. He'd wanted them to leave because he didn't want any women close to the Irishman.

Because women were a potential threat to their relationship, and it didn't matter that those two women had been in a relationship themselves. He remembered all his talks with Connor, the fact that the Irishman had indeed been with a couple of women, that it was the apocalypse and they were men after all. Sooner or later everyone wanted to be in a relationship for a while, or maybe some of them just wanted to fuck like Andrea or Shane.   
  
And judging by all their talks and despite Connor's religion, the guy obviously wasn't indifferent to the idea as well. But then there were people like him, Daryl. He too had to admit that even he wanted something like that again. Some day, although it had always been kind of hard for him. He'd only been with one woman in his life and it had been awkward as hell, which was another reason why he had reacted to them like that.

It wasn't like he hated women. After the farm incident and getting back to the group he'd even considered getting into something with Carol, but truth was that he was far too damaged, awkward and afraid of women to ever start something with them again. Sure, he liked them and he wouldn't be lying if he told anyone that he'd never had a look inside one of Merle's raunchy magazines, and it wasn't like he wouldn't sneak a peek at a nice pair of breasts when he saw them.   
  
He knew that the whole man-woman, woman-woman or even man-man relationship and sex thing was something that goes without saying because it was just natural. Despite Merle's constant tries to keep reminding and teaching him that it was not, that it was disgusting. Maybe that was the very reason why he was having so much trouble with it now, why he was having such a hard time with anything that went further than group mentality and friendship. He saw everything else as something unpleasant, even as a threat.

Especially when it involved Connor and women.

And this knowledge made him both so confused and incredibly angry. Because jealousy meant that you envied someone's ability to do something you obviously wanted but couldn't get yourself. He was jealous and furious because Connor had become the person with whom he had the tightest relationship he had ever been in, the tighest friendship that was the next closest thing to an actual relationship. And he wanted it to be exclusive with no one between them. Back in the old days he had spent hours complaining about how clingy Connor had been when they had found him, now he didn't want to share, now he didn't want to let him go or be with anyone else.

It was selfish and he knew it. Maybe it even was a bit psycho, but he didn't care. The Irishman had changed him for the better, made him feel like he was actually worth something, he had saved his life more than once and they were always together. So he shouldn't be surprised that he felt so possessive of him, should he?

But he was.

Because it was weird, wrong, pathetic and _disgusting_. He tried remind himself of that at least.  
And once again he couldn't help but remember Merle's words, his brother's constant mocking.  
 _Who I hang out with ain't none of your_ _concern,_ he'd told him.  
And Merle was laughing at him, seeing right through him.

_Hang out? This is what yah call hanging out? You ain't foolin no one, Darylena._


	8. Destination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- the first couple of paragraphs refer to a chapter in my first fic Salvation, it's the same date  
> \- Simmons story is based on a scene in the first Boondock movie  
> \- I stole the light bulb joke from the Meatpacking Plant deleted scene from Boondock I

**_285 days ago..._  
September 14th, 2008, 8:32am - Windsor Dam, Quabbin Park, Massachusetts**

_He was standing in the middle of the chamber, staring at nothing in particular, motionless, with a blank look on his face. He could feel the rope in his hands, the raw and scratchy surface scraping along the inner side of his clenched fist. He didn't really want to do this, and he had to admit that he was scared. But if this was the only way he could be with **him** again, then maybe it was worth it. He let out a gentle sigh and then headed for the chair with the saddle. He didn't even really know how he was supposed to do this, but he'd seen it in a couple of movies and figured that this could be so complicated._

_He just had to snap his neck after all. Or wait until he died from the lack of air. Once again he could feel the hard lump in his throat and swallowed hard as he placed the chair right underneath the beam, and when he stared up at the wooden thing he felt a new wave of regret and fear rush over him. He honestly didn't want to do this, and there was a part inside of him that was screaming and begging for him to stop, but there was no way he was going to give it up now._

_He was just so fucking depressed._

_The constant pain in his chest, all the crying every night, the guilt, the loss. He just couldn't take it anymore, and he wanted everything to end. Now that he could see **his** face every single day it was a constant reminder of what he'd done, judging him, screaming at him and stabbing him right in the heart. He stepped on the chair and threw the rope at the beam and tied the two ends together so that the rope was hanging down. This was part two and he really didn't have a clue about how he was supposed to tie a slope, he just wrapped the rope around his neck a couple of times and fastened it with a couple of knots behind his head.  
_

_He shifted on the chair and stared down to his feed, which he aligned to the edge of the chair. He took a deep breath, probably his last one, and the raised his head to stare at the ceiling, the sky. This was going to hurt and he knew it, but he was actually rather surprised how calm he was all of a sudden. He knew that it was going to be over in less than a minute, and now that he thought about it, he'd been waiting for this shit to happen for the past two months._

_His life had been nothing but horrible ever since the incident, and he was actually relieved that he probably didn't have to feel anything anymore very soon. He just stood there for a while and tried gather some strength for the terrible thing he was about to do. He hoped that his brother and god could forgive his weakness. **'m sorry** , he thought and let his last breath escape his mouth, then he squeezed his eyes shut, lifted his left shaky foot forward...and jumped._

_A violent gasp tried to escape his mouth but got caught in his throat because the rope was so tight around his neck. He wanted to scream because of the sudden intense pain in his neck but couldn't do that either. All he could do was start kicking with his legs like a madman, but no matter what he did, he couldn't reach the ground. The kicking just made it worse, because he started swaying with the rope. He was in shock and absolutely horrified, because he'd not pictured it to be like that at all. It was painful, violent and terrifying, and he instantly regretted the jump._

_He was so desperate to get back on the chair or on the ground but couldn't, **couldn't** reach it. The struggling was bad, but the noises that escaped his mouth were far worse, because he couldn't recognize his own voice. He sounded like an animal, fighting for breath, coughing and croaking more with every second that he was hanging from the beam._

_Fuck, he'd just wanted to be with his brother again, but certainly not like that. Hot tears were running down his cheeks as he grabbed the rope with both his hands and tried to stop it from strangling him, but he knew that he couldn't fight it. He was such a fucking idiot, and now he had to die because of that. After about 40 seconds of kicking, coughing and struggling he could feel how the burst of adrenaline subsided, and was starting to see white spots._

_Cold sweat was running down his forehead and it felt like the rope was going to separate his skull from his spine, like the rest of his body was just going to fall to the group because of the pressure to his throat and neck. His ears were ringing, and when he was already giving in to the darkness that kept calling him he suddenly heard the voice._

_"No you stupid prick!"_

_Despite the terror and pain he still had to smile._

_Finally._  
_He was going to see him again._

_He could feel how someone grabbed him by his waist but it didn't matter. The rope kept strangling him, and he just knew that this was it._  
_For a second it felt like gravity lost its meaning as everything started spinning. It felt like he was falling, then everything went black._

Murphy startled awake and let out a surprised gasp. He blinked a couple of times and tried to gather his thoughts, but it felt like the pressure to his neck and throat was still there. He swallowed hard and rubbed his Adam's apple with a shaky breath, and he was rather surprised when he felt the hot watery line that kept running down his cheeks. It took him a moment until he realized that he was actually crying.

"Fuck.." he whispered and wiped his cheek with an awkward gasp.

Now, this had been some weird fucking dream. He sat up and moved his hand through his messy raven-black hair. The weirdest thing about it had to be the fact that he'd seen his own face right at the end of it, like he'd tried to safe _himself_ from the rope. He just shook his head with an angry growl. The dream had been weird for many reasons, not just because of the seeing himself. He couldn't believe he'd been dreaming about fucking _suicide_.

After everything he'd been through back in Boston there was one thing he was absolutely positive about: He wanted to live, he wanted to survive no matter what.  
And he certainly wouldn't try to fucking hang himself because of a brother who'd betrayed him, shot him in the head and left him to die.

Murphy got up with a gentle sigh and rubbed the side of his nose as he made his way over to the small water bowel he kept on the table in his small room. He had a look out of the window and noticed the beautiful sunrise that got reflected in the water of the reservoir. It was strange to wake up after such a horrible nightmare, only to face something so beautiful.

There was a tiny part in his abused brain that remembered that he'd loved sunsets and sunrises back then, before the dead had started walking, before the headshot, before all this mess. There was something special and meaningful about them, but he couldn't remember what that had been. As soon as he was done washing his face he automatically placed his flat hand on his chest, the one with the Aequitas tattoo.

Once again that subconscious motion made him frown, because he didn't know what was up with that. Whenever he did that it felt like something was missing there, something important. He stared at his reflection in the mirror while doing that. He tensed once again when he saw the ugly scar on his forehead, the dent, the marks from the stitches and surgery.

He still couldn't believe that he'd survived that shit. It was damn ugly and horrible and he still couldn't really even see it clearly because of his constant blurred vision on his right eye, but he was still alive and that was all that mattered.

He was having good days and bad days, and this was a bad day, because he had a pretty horrible headache and the nervous twitching and shaking of his hands was bad as well. No matter how glad he was, no matter how lucky he had been, there were many things about the injury that still made life pretty horrible for him. Just yesterday he'd had another epileptic seizure in the middle of a conversation, and he hated how everyone was looking at him like he was a poor victim. He was a lot of things, but he certainly wasn't victim.

Murphy shook his head and stopped looking at his reflection, because it made him feel sick. He headed for his spot in front of the window instead. When he saw the chair there he tensed once again, because he remembered the nightmare, and just seeing the object made him feel like an invisible rope strapped itself around his neck. He scratched his throat and shook his head once more.

It was a damn shame that all of those headshrinkers were dead now. He was actually curious what that dream had been about, because he was still a bit scared and shocked to be honest. It had been _so_ real...Maybe he needed to go on another trip to this bookstore in Belchertown and check out the section with the esotericism stuff, see if he could find a dream interpretation book.

Well, if he could still read more than a couple of easy sentences.

Thinking about books made Murphy sad and embarrassed again. He'd never told anyone about the fact that he couldn't really read books anymore. It wasn't like the gunshot had made him illiterate. It was just that when he read more than maybe a paragraph the words started slipping, the letters got all fucked up and he just couldn't really process them anymore.

Ever since he and Simmons had ended up here he spent a lot of time practicing both writing and reading, but it was rather hard to do this on his own with no help. But he was too proud to ask anyone for help, and he didn't want them to laugh or pity him any more than they already did.

He swallowed, grabbed the chair and dragged it closer to the window, so he could sit down in front of it. He watched the sun rise for a bit, and although it made him feel happy and calm he couldn't smile and wouldn't smile, he just sat there with a blank look on his face.

Moments like this made him feel lonely. He knew that he wasn't alone, the other four members of his group were probably downstairs and waiting for him, but their company wouldn't really change anything about the constant dull pain in his chest. A pain that wasn't really physical or caused by any injury, it was just...there. It seemed to get worse with every month that passed. It felt like something had been ripped out of his chest, like there was something missing. Sometimes he even felt empty.

He figured that it had to be a remnant of his past, that his poor abused brain certainly missed his brother, although it was a bit fucked up. He didn't really remember much about his brother, Connor. Everything he'd left of him was the ugly scar and all his 'disabilities' he had because of that bullet. Whenever he thought about his brother he felt two painful things at once.

Betrayal, hurt, anger and hatred because of all his problems that were there _because_ of Connor, but at the same time he felt heartache, loss, separation and the desperate longing to be reunited with him. He honestly wanted to remember and see him one more time, to look him right in his eyes and ask him the one question that kept bugging him ever since he had woken up in that filthy apartment.

_Why, Connor? I thought you loved me. Why didn't you understand me? Why did you shoot me? Why did you leave me there?  
_

He rubbed his scared forehead and gritted his teeth. Whenever he thought about that struggle, all the begging and desperate attempts to stop Connor he felt so much anger, and he'd do anything to punch Connor in his face just to feel better. He wanted to scream at him, get into a fight and tell him exactly how he felt because of his fuck up, but he knew that this was just a terrible attempt of his own psyche to cover up the obvious real problem, to protect himself from something far worse.

He knew he didn't hate Connor, he knew that all his violent thoughts about him were just a lie.

The truth was that he really, really _missed_ his brother, that the pain of separation and the uncertainty was far worse than the pain that was caused by the bullet. He liked to think that he was so angry that he couldn't breathe, but he actually could hardly breathe sometimes because he missed him so **so** much. Sometimes he even felt like crying because of that, although he would not cry. He was a survivor, and all his previous weaknesses had made him what he was now. Crying was a weakness so he wouldn't do it any more. But even that wouldn't stop him from feeling upset and empty.

He wondered where Connor was right now. If he was still alive, if he was still thinking about him. But he knew the truth. It was very unlikely.

Connor was probably dead. Either killed by walkers or the military and thugs. Or maybe he had died in the fire.  
Boston was pretty much destroyed by now. By the undead. By the explosions, and what'd been left had been consumed by flames.

 _Maybe it's for the best_ , Murphy kept telling himself, kept lying to himself just to keep himself from getting even more upset. Connor dying wasn't the worst thing that could happen to him. What was far far worse was the fact that Connor could still be alive, and even if he did want him back and even if he did want to reunite with him it would be absolutely impossible.

Boston had been large. Massachusetts was even bigger. Then there was America, a whole continent, countless walkers, rivers, lakes, villages, towns, cities, fields, woods, deserts and mountains were separating them here. There was no more communication, no internet, no mobile phones, no texts, no letters, no television, radio or newspapers. It was impossible to ever get in touch with each other ever again. If Connor was still alive he'd never find him in a million years. It was like finding a needle in a haystack that was the size of downtown Boston.

The younger MacManus tried to no longer think about it. He looked down at his lap and then closed his eyes while pressing his hands together so he could start praying. He did that every morning right after he got up. He knew that it was pointless to do that because god had certainly left them with all that mess that was happening these days, but for some reason he still couldn't stop. He supposed it was just a habit, although he knew that he was silently praying for his group, himself...and Connor. Always Connor. No matter how hurt and mad he was at him.

* * *

_**103 days ago...  
** _ **March 14th, 2009, 9:17am - Windsor Dam, Quabbin Park, Massachusetts**

He joined the others for breakfast just like he always did. He watched Samantha feed two year old Suzie in the high chair and heard Mike and Simmons' talk about something, but he wasn't really interested in it. He ate Sam's self-made bread with the old stale Nutella they'd found back at the store in Belchertown and hid a tiny bit of the bread in his pockets. He did that every morning, so he could feed the duck family down at the reservoir later.

He had a look around the dirty kitchen. Him and Simmons had really hit the checkpot here. They had left Boston about a half a year ago and travelled to several parts of Massachusetts for a bit, and it had been Simmons' idea to get here to crash for the winter. They had arrived here early September last year, and they had spent the entire winter inside this very house.

They were at the far south of Quabbin reservoir, hauled up in the former visitor center. There was nothing but forest and water around them. The next closest town, Belchertown, had been one of the cities that had been evacuated prior a major outbreak up here, so there weren't too many looters and walkers close to them. Since people had been forced to leave from one second to the next most of the stores and gas stations still had supplies, which they had dragged over here before others got them and before the snow had made it impossible to pass any street.

Murphy and Major Simmons had met the small family here. Mike, Samantha and their little daughter Suzie had been one of the very few residents of Belchertown who had managed to flee their city before the evacuation, and they were nice people, really. Samantha was younger than Murphy, just 26, but for some reason she still felt like a mother to all of them, probably because she was the only woman in their group.

Mike was a young but loving husband whose main priority was his family, and after his attempt to hit Simmons with a plank and the Major overpowering him like it was nothing the father actually really appreciated him and Murphy now. He and Simmons had become some pretty good friends over the winter, just like the younger MacManus twin.

Simmons had told him more than once that he was the main priority, that they were going to get him to some lab as soon as they'd made sure that there was some place to go, and the army man was still convinced that Murphy was the solution. The dark-haired MacManus brother didn't really believe in it himself but he appreciated the fact that Simmons was so protective of him, that he covered his ass no matter what. Not just the reservoir but also Simmons himself was a goldmine, because he was an expert at combat and survival.

He was the one who called all the shots, who told him and Mike what to do, built and get, and they had made this place their fortress by now. They had survived the winter just because of Simmons after all. They had fish in the reservoir, a fireplace and Samantha's cooking skills, and everybody had a certain task to do. The truth was that part of Murphy didn't even want to find a lab at all.

He liked it here and didn't want to leave after the mess in Boston, and he was quite surprised that Simmons was still such a believer and so disciplined. After losing his entire base, getting betrayed by his own men and watching how the civilians he was supposed to protect got eaten alive it was pretty impressive to watch how the man wouldn't lose his mind. He wasn't even a cynic, much in contrast to Murphy, who had lost a bit of his cheery Irish spirit because of everything.

The Irishman ate up and ruffled Suzie's fluffy brown hair on his way out. The rest of his group didn't ask questions anymore, they knew about his every day routine by now. He wouldn't talk during their mornings, he would just eat, enjoy their company a bit and then go outside to have a smoke and visit the duck family.

He still couldn't really run for long but always tried to do a little jog over to Windsor dam so he could keep fit in case they needed to run from walkers or thugs again. He did his little jog and had to stop soon because of his terrible smoker lungs, and he was glad that Simmons wasn't with him because he would kick his ass otherwise. This was another daily routine of theirs: Simmons was really keen on teaching him loads of military stuff in case he ever lost him and needed to make his way to some lab himself. He still couldn't really hold and shoot a gun because of his shaky hands, but he'd become pretty good at the next closest thing: working with knives.

He'd always liked knives anyway so he was pretty excited to learn all these throw and stab techniques. He'd learned how to make fire, find food and protect himself in man-to-man combat, even when his attacker had a weapon on him. No matter how much he really appreciated all the lessons he still hated to admit that Simmons was a pretty strict teacher. Despite their good father-son like relationship he was rather unforgiving and pretty demanding, and Murphy's constant fits of anger weren't really helping during their efforts to make him a good and trained soldier-like survivalist.

But Simmons wasn't here now, so he could stop running and he could cough his ass off, so he actually did that. He tried to stop it as soon as he reached the duck family by the dam, and just like any other time they made him smile. He knew it was stupid to share food with animals that didn't even need it whereas his group actually did, but he still shared some of his bread every morning.

"Hey fellas" he greeted the duck mother with her little ones and stopped walking so he wouldn't scare them away. He grabbed the bread crumbs from his pockets and made them smaller so he could throw them at the animals. He liked them a lot. They were silent, they wouldn't eat each other, they were just there, peaceful, indifferent to the end of the world. They were used to fighting for their lives every day, and Murphy liked to think that they actually had it better now that mankind pretty much ceased to exist. There was no one there to destroy their homes, no one to put up large dams and houses, no one who could cut down their trees or pollute their water.

After feeding the ducks the younger MacManus searched his other pocket for the cigarette pack he kept hiding from Simmons, so he could have his daily morning smoke. His old friend hated it when he smoked because it was bad for his health, but Murphy didn't care. The withdrawal symptoms were too bad. He had to keep going no matter what.

If people really wanted this cure because of his immunity, then they would have to deal with that shit. He doubted that he was ever going to die from lung cancer, because he was pretty sure he was going to die a whole lot sooner. There were walkers, looters and the constant lack of water and food, so a couple of cigarettes each day couldn't do much harm anyway. He smoked and watched the ducks for a while, then someone started speaking right next to him.

"My daughter loved to do that when she was little."

Murphy startled violently and turned his head to look at the man next to him.  
Simmons had managed to sneak up on him without him noticing it.  
Now the Major was just standing there, watching the ducks with a slight smile on his face.

"Jesus, ye scared te shit outta me" Murphy muttered and threw his cigarette in the water, but Simmons didn't seem to care.

It even looked like he was too lost in thoughts to notice.

"Her name was Jal. When she was four we took her to the fens and she would throw these big chunks of bread at ducks" he said and then chuckled.

Murphy just looked at him, and for some reason he didn't like the mention of the fens, like there was a bad memory connected to that, although he couldn't remember it.

"We tried to make her understand that she's supposed to throw little crumbs at them, but she just threw the whole thing in there."

Simmons chuckled and there was silence for a while, until Murphy decided that it was his turn to say something.

"Did ye lose her to those things as well?" he asked quietly and Simmons shook his head with a smile.

"No. Years before that. She was sixteen. I wasn't there, I was stationed in Europe at the time."

Murphy scratched his chin and nodded.

"Oh. Sucks" he muttered and felt bad for Simmons, who kept talking.

"One day she went to this store to get her magazine. I told her not to go there because the owner was connected to the mob. But since I wasn't there to be mad at her, she just went because it was two blocks from her school. There were three men who wanted to get their money from the owner at the time. He didn't have it and they started yelling at him. She honestly didn't know who they were and tried to step between them to protect the shop owner. The thing escalated pretty quickly and..."

Simmons fell quite for a while and Murphy bit his lower lip.

"I'm sorry, Keith" he said and looked at his friend, who just kept smiling at the ducks.

"The shop owner and my daughter both got shot. Right in the head. She was killed outright."

Murphy automatically rubbed his own head and sighed.

"Fuck...that's..that's not fair" he muttered and Simmons nodded.

"Four months. That's how long I stayed in Europe and buried my head in my work. I did a lot of things wrong back then.  
I didn't even go to my baby girl's funeral because I couldn't..."

He took a deep breath and Murphy was actually surprised to see the soldier get emotional for the first time.

" She was a good kid. Good student. Honest, stood up for what she believed in. She had her heart in the right spot and I was **_so_** proud of her. It took me four months to get back to Boston. I made the decision that I needed to get there just to find those men and make them pay for taking her from me."

Murphy just looked at him and got curious.

"Did ye get them?"

Simmons chuckled and shook his head.

"Of course not. I got back home only to discover that the three men involved were already dead."

Murphy shook his head.

"That's stupid. Shoulda been..."

"That's not all" Simmons interrupted him and Murphy looked at him again.

"I learned that they had been killed in a shootout at the Copley Plaza. Two men had entered their room through the ceiling and shot them up like fish in a tank. The shooter who killed my daughter had been shot right in the head. Dead on the spot."

Murphy raised an eyebrow and snorted.

"Fer real?"

Simmons nodded and then looked at the younger MacManus twin, a strange expression on his face.  
Murphy chuckled and nodded.

"Good. Now tha's what I call justice served right."

"I didn't just save you from Private Gilbert because of your special blood. I did it because I owe _you_ the death of my daughter's murderer" Simmons said and Murphy stared at him.

"What?"

Simmons nodded and wouldn't stop looking at him.

"I recognized your face right away when my men found you. You and your brother were all over the news before the outbreak. For months we've been seeing your pictures because of your capture, trial, imprisonment and escape. They connected their murder to your crimes. Although I wouldn't call them crimes. My men were worried about you when we accepted you as part of our base in Boston. They didn't like having one of the famous Boston Saints in our midst, but I didn't care. I saw you as a sign of hope. Not just because of your immunity and the fact that you survived that shot. I think that Jal sent you to let me know that god will set this whole thing right. Just like you set her murder right back then."

Murphy snorted and turned his head. Just like any other time he heard about his past he felt so bitter. He wanted to hear about it but didn't at the same time, because he couldn't remember it, because it sounded like a stranger had done all these things, not him.

"I don't know what yer talking about. 'm not a saint" he muttered and Simmons just looked at him for a while.

"There's a reason why I followed you out here" he said and chose to ignore Murphy's last statement.

"Aye?" the Irishman muttered but wouldn't look at Simmons.

"Mike heard a broadcast earlier this morning. It came from a radio station in Georgia."

Murphy frowned and looked at him.

"Like, real people talking?"

Simmons nodded.

"They were talking about a possible success with a vaccine. It sounded like they were trying to contact France. Or Europe.  
No matter what it was, they said they were in Augusta. That there's a running facility that requests international assistance."

Murphy raised an eyebrow.

"International? Like there's anything left out there" he muttered and shook his head.

"Well, last time we heard from the UN it sounded like Europe and especially France was doing better than us at the time.  
But that was before we lost the signal."

Murphy sighed and started walking while putting a hand on Simmons' shoulder to animate him to start walking with him.

"Well, so ye want us ta get on a boat so we can travel over there? Last time I tried t'get to the harbor it didn' really work out" he asked sarcastically, and Simmons shook his head.

"No, but I already told Michael and Samantha that I'm going to take you to Augusta, Georgia."

Murphy looked at his friend, and once again he couldn't help but feel discomfort. He didn't want to leave this place, but it seemed to be important to Simmons, and he still wanted to find a cure as well. No matter how ridiculous and useless it was. And he'd kind of figured that they would have to leave sooner or later, because his friend wouldn't stop talking about it. So he took a deep breath and the released it through his nose with a sigh.

"Alright. Guess we're going ta Augusta then."

* * *

**_103 days later,_  
Interstate 20, 10:58am - 10 miles West of Augusta City Center**

"I still can't believe I fell fer that shit" Connor growled as he stared at the road in front of them.

Daryl was sitting right next to him in the passenger seat, and he was actually surprised that Connor brought the topic up after more than an hour. They hadn't really talked much ever since the incident with the girls, because the Irishman had been too pissed and the hunter had been way too confused.  
  
He still couldn't stop thinking about his fit of rage because of the touching thing, but he was feeling a bit better about the whole thing, now that the weirdo feelings were no longer there. Now it were just him and Connor in a car, focused on Augusta and nothing else. Except that his friend decided to bring it up again. He gritted his teeth and stared out of the window to his right.

"Don't surprise me. You're as dumb as a potato sometimes" he muttered and Connor snorted.

"Eh, don't be talking about potatoes all the time just cos 'm Irish"

Daryl snorted, realizing his unintended pun just now.

"Gotta give it to those chicks though. That was pretty smart shit, tha was" the blonde said and then hit Daryl's chest, which startled the hunter.

"I thought yer a hunter, why don't ye come up with shit like that, huh?"

The younger of the two friends frowned.

"Cos we don't rob other people blind?"

Connor pouted and then nodded.

"Aye, guess yer right there" he muttered and then grinned at his friend.

"But should we ever get ta do shit like that, then yer totally playing the screaming girl part."

Daryl snorted and looked out of the window with a slight smirk on his face.

"I ain't the one who got overwhelmed by a fuckin girl" he said and got the exact reaction he wanted: denial from his friend.

"Bullshit! She tricked me that fuckin..she..she used her boobs as an advantage, that's what she did!"

Daryl huffed.

"Bullshit. That trap was more than obvious. I never would've fallen for that crap."

Connor snorted.

"Aye, cos yer ain't interested in a pair of boobs when they're right in fronta ye. Just look at the shit ye did with Carol all te time..."

Daryl fell quiet then and gave his friend an angry glare. Connor noticed it and looked back at him for a moment, and when he realized that that remark made Daryl really angry he decided to let it go. He was still pretty confused because his friend was acting so strange these days, so he tried to lighten the mood a little. He shifted in his seat and looked back at the street, only to crack a smile.

"But looks like _she_ was pretty interested in a pair of boobs. Didn't that one chick say 'girlfriend'?"

Daryl shrugged and stared out the window so he didn't have to face the Irishman any longer.  
He hated how cocky Connor was now, although he got his behaviour.  
It was like Connor was trying anything to act all manly now, just to hide the fact that he'd been outsmarted by a woman.

"Yeah, so?"

Connor chuckled.

"Tell me, how many lesbians does it take ta screw in a lightbulb?"

Daryl frowned and could no longer ignore his friend, because now that was just stupid. He turned his head and looked at the Irishman, face clearly saying "Really?" without actually speaking it out. Connor looked back at him and tried to stay serious, and although he hadn't even finished the joke yet he still started chuckling and then laughing.

"Come on, how many?"

Daryl just frowned at him and shook his head with a sigh.

"Aren't yah supposed t'talk shit about that? Do yer Catholic thing?  
Tell them how 'unholy' that stuff is and how they're gonna end up in hell for screwin each other?"

Connor sighed and looked straight ahead again.

"Yer no fuckin fun, man" he growled and shrugged in answer to his friend's question.

"Besides. Don't exactly stick ta everything te bible says in case ye didn't notice. Being addicted ta shit like alcohol and nicotine ain't exactly that Catholic either. And I've slept with women without marrying them cos I don't do that sorta shit. And let's not ferget ta mention how the bible ferbids murder. Oops."

Daryl raised an eyebrow.

"So yah actually saying you're super religious but decide not t'stick your nose in other people's business?  
Like yah ain't gonna tell 'em they're gonna end up in hell for this and that?"

Connor scratched his chin and shrugged.

"All 'm sayin is, it might be wrong, but it's their choice, their life, and as long as they don't harm anyone like kids 'n shit then they can do whatever te fuck they want. I don't care. It's their business, not mine. Me 'n Murph didn't tattoo Veritas and Aequitas on us fer nothing. . Says what we believe in. Aequitas has more than one meaning, ye know? Means justice, equality, fairness. Equality, as in everyone's equal and it don't matter who ye are and what ye want as long as it doesn't do harm. I kill people who hurt others and who are evil sonsa bitches, not people who break every tiny rule that's mentioned in te bible. Would make me kind of a hypocrite."

Daryl just looked at his friend. He couldn't believe that Connor could actually talk some sense when they were talking about his religious side.

"I did kill molestors and rapists though, and she totally tried ta fuckin molest and rape me, so this woulda been a reason t'blow her head off if she hadn't been a fuckin woman" the Irishman went on and shook his head with an angry frown.

Daryl snorted.

"She didn't try t'fuckin rape you."

"'f course she did! Look at me!" Connor exclaimed and shrugged with a grin.

"Can't blame her though."

Daryl shook his head and looked at the road as well.

"Yeah, dream on, leprechaun."

Connor chuckled.

"Come on, don't think I didn't get why ye shot her hand."

Daryl's face turned to stone then and he automatically tensed.

"It's cos she had a gun, smartass" he defended himself and looked away.

Connor laughed.

"Aye, keep telling yerself that. Yer just jealous cos she was all over me 'n not you."

"Shut up" Daryl growled and Connor just laughed more.

"Why'd you gotta be such a fuckin dick all the time?" the hunter went on and Connor grinned at him.

"Geez, yah were less annoying when you were some emo freak" the younger of the two added and looked at away.

The Irishman stopped laughing then and sighed.

"I wasn't fuckin emo."

"Yeah, whatever."

Connor shook his head and grabbed the steering wheel a bit tighter. There went his good mood.  
So maybe Daryl thought he was annoying, but right now the hunter was far more annoying with his fucking mood shifts these days.

"So maybe I'm a dick, but yer a fuckin buzzkill with that stick up yer arse" he said, laughter and grin gone from one second to the next.

"Ain't got no stick up my ass" Daryl growled, although he kind of had to admit that he did.

Connor shook his head and looked out of his window to his left, now obviously cranky again.  
He still hated it when people wouldn't acknowledge or appreciate his humor.

"Since ye don't wanna talk about yer brother I figured I might cheer ye up a little instead, but noo...  
Mrs Dixon's gotta act all grumpy fuckin diva because I tried ta make a fuckin joke."

"Don't need your stupid jokes. They ain't even funny" Daryl retorted and Connor snorted.

"Fine, fuck you, then."

"Fuck _you_ " the hunter countered and Connor wouldn't answer anymore.

Daryl shook his head with an angry growl.

"And it takes two lesbians to screw in a light bulb, and you're not fuckin invited" he snapped and turned his head as well.

Both men stared out of their respective side windows, until Connor snorted. Then he chuckled gently, only to start laughing.  
Although Daryl tried really hard he still couldn't fight the smile that broke through, then he started grinning, and then he started laughing as well.

"That answer's completely retarded" Connor laughed and then looked at his friend to laugh with him.

"You're not fuckin invited?" he repeated and Daryl laughed even more. He nodded.

"Yeah, cos they're busy laughin at yer goddamn stupidity in there."

"Fuck you! Asshole" Connor answered and hit his friend's chest.

Both men laughed a bit more until they noticed the street sign that got closer and closer.  
There they could read it, spelled out in white letters on a dirty green sign: **AUGUSTA**

Daryl nudged his friend and pointed at it.

"Looks like we're there."


	9. Welcome

_**62 days ago** _

**April 24th 2009, 4:06pm, Harrisburg, Augusta**

Murphy stared out of the window and watched the houses pass by. He still wasn't really used to the heat down here in Georgia, and every now and then he could feel droplets of sweat run down his neck. He couldn't keep his eyes off the houses that surrounded their car to the left and right.

He'd pictured it to be much more different, to be honest. He'd heard of Augusta before, and Simmons had told him that it had been the third largest city of Georgia, and once upon a time there had been about 200,000 people here. Although he could hardly remember anything about it he believed that there had been a lot more people in Boston, and it wasn't like it was about the number of citizens anyway. More former citizens meant more walkers nowadays, so he actually wished that Augusta had been smaller in that regard.

But on the other side, he'd pictured it a whole lot bigger after all the talk. Higher at least, because he could hardly see any skyscrapers. Although Boston had been burning last time he'd seen it - he was used to 40 story skyscrapers, all squeezed together and raising tall like black splinters. And then there was Augusta all... _flat._

Flat and empty.

It felt weird. Ever since they got here they had come across maybe a hundred walkers, and most of them had been in the outer neighbourhoods. Now that they got closer and closer to the city center there were hardly any walkers, just a lot of broken down cars, a couple of collapsed buildings and a whole lot of thrash. But other than that: absolutely nothing but the creepy humming of the wind in old ruins, and that freaked him out a bit.

The younger MacManus turned his head to look at the man who was driving the car. Major Keith Simmons, who was pretty much the only man he considered a close friend now. Whenever he looked at him he couldn't help but smirk, because even now the Major still looked like a Major, a soldier, a disciplined army man. Even now he kept his hair and beard in perfect shape, all short and sorted. He still wore his old uniform every now and then, although it had lost its meaning a long time ago.

This was one of the days were he wore it, to let people know that he had authority, because the cities were dangerous, and because this was an official mission. Just yesterday they had successfully managed to contact their destination. The cure research facility really existed, much in contrast to the CDC. Although they had received the broadcast from Augusta Simmons had still made the decision to do a slight detour to check out the Center of Disease Control in Atlanta, only to be utterly disappointed.

They'd found it in ruins, exploded, burned out, overrun and destroyed. Atlanta was lost just like Boston, but whereas the capital of Massachusetts had burned to the ground Georgia's capital was facing an end that was far worse, because it was more than crowded with walkers. Murphy and Simmons had not even really made it right to the CDC, they'd just seen its ruins from the interstate as they'd been pretty desperate to get out of Atlanta as soon as possible.

For weeks they had been on the run, changing cars, crossing abandoned or overrun towns and cities, but now they were here, Augusta, perhaps their final destination, which was the Health Sciences Campus of the Georgia Regents University.

Murphy turned his head again to look at some more houses, to hide the fact that he was actually a bit nervous, maybe even scared. Back in Boston he'd heard Doctor Gregory talk about it. _The pathogen - whatever it was - wasn't just in his blood after the bite, it was deep inside his brain, the brainstem, so what if blood tests and samples wouldn't be enough for those research guys?_

He hated hospitals and doctors, because Gregory had been experimenting way too much with him, but he was so torn. There was no way he was going to let anyone screw around with his brain, especially because that one had been screwed around with enough for a lifetime, but at the same time he did want to help, did want to find a cure, and he did want to make Simmons' dreams come true.

Because even after all these months the Major wouldn't stop talking about it, the miracle that he was still alive, that he was immune, that it was not too late for a cure yet. He wanted to believe, he wanted to find a cure as well, but there was some part inside him that just couldn't believe it, that it was supposed to be -so- easy and ridiculous, really. Mankind ceased to exist, major cities were burning, millions or even billions of people had died, there were dead people walking and eating each other, and he, of all people, was supposed to be the one to cure mankind?

It had to be some sort of joke. He just -couldn't- be the only one in the world to be immune. Once again he felt a lump in his throat right then and there, because he couldn't help but think about his lost brother, the one he hadn't seen in more than six months. What if Connor was immune as well? They were brothers, so they shared stuff, maybe even the same blood type, although he couldn't remember that one.

He gritted his teeth and shook his head. It wasn't supposed to matter, and he knew that none of the two answers would make him feel better. Answer number one: Connor was indeed immune, consequence: Connor was still alive somewhere in America, and he couldn't be reunited with him. Answer number two: Connor had never been immune and never would be, consequence: Connor was probably dead, eaten alive by flesh eating monsters. No matter what it was, Murphy would always be separated from his brother, the one person he still didn't know whether he loved or hated him.

The dark-haired man chewed on his thumbnail and then started licking it, and he got more nervous with every larger house they passed. They were close to the downtown area and they had passed a couple of FEMA/GRU signs by now, which told them that they really weren't that far away from their destination. But there were no people, no soldiers, no walkers. The streets were empty. Murphy frowned and shifted.

"Don't ye think it's a bit weird that we didn't cross paths with any soldiers yet?" he asked quietly and then looked at his friend, whowas staring at the road.

"They're probably guarding their base. Trying to keep up their defences. It's not an uncommon strategy. Defensive rather than aggressive.  
We did the same thing in Boston."

Murphy nodded.

"Aye, we did, but didn't tha guy on the Walkie say they'd sent an escort ta get us?"

"They did, and they said they'd be waiting for us at Central Square shopping center. Don't you remember that, Dave?"

Murphy frowned and scratched his head, because he honestly couldn't remember.  
He gritted his teeth and then looked away, ashamed because of his little memory problem.

"Sorry. Forgot 'bout it" he mumbled and Simmons nudged him.

"It's okay. Just stay calm. We're going to be just fine. Mark the date. We're writing history today" he announced and Murphy snorted.

"Let's see about that" he muttered and then pointed at a large flat building to their right.

"Hey look. I think it's tha one."

Simmons turned his head to look at the grey worn out building that had a large hole in its roof. There was a larger parking lot in front of it, so it really looked like it had once been a shopping center. He grabbed the steering wheel and moved the car to the right so he could maneuver it around a large truck that lay on its side so he could get to the exit.

"Let's go see if there's a fuckin Burger King or something like tha. 'm fuckin starving" Murphy retorted as he watched how they passed the building and made their way to the parking lot. Simmons just chuckled. "Can I please have a Big Mac and a coke, Da? And a toy while we're at it" Murphy went on and then smirked, because his nervousness suddenly turned into anticipation.

It had been weeks since they'd last come across living people, and although he didn't like the military and doctors he was sure that Simmons would keep a good eye on him if things went downhill.

"Shit, I forgot t'ask the obvious the entire time" the younger of the two men said and leaned down so he could search his backpack for his knife just in case.

He then turned his head and smirked at Simmons.

"Are we there yet?"

Keith chuckled once more and then smiled at Murphy as well.

"It's good to see that you can still crack a smile."

Murphy looked back at the shopping center and noticed all the pavilions and tents on the parking lot.  
There were cars and a few busses, but he couldn't see any people so far.

"I can't see 'em yet" he muttered and Simmons steered their car around the corner.

"They're probably inside. I wouldn't want to be out in the open like that, either."

Murphy cocked an eyebrow.

"Did they even say who they are?"

"FEMA employees, professors and doctors from university hospital."

"And ye think we can trust 'em?" the dark-haired MacManus twin asked and got nervous again when he noticed the green street sign that said " _Medical College / Paine College_ ".

"We have to. What other choice do we have?"

Murphy pressed his lips together and nodded.

"Aye."

They turned another corner and had to drive around the Central Square shopping center advert, which had been knocked down by a car and was now lying half way across the entrance to the parking lot. The mall was right in front of them now as Simmons kept moving their vehicle around broken down cars, a helicopter and several tents and busses, and the closer they got to the actual building the more nervous Murphy got.  
  
He hated shopping centers, especially nowadays. There were bits and pieces he remembered from the outbreak, and he knew that his kid or whoever she had been had been ripped apart inside a shopping center like this one, and he had been the one to watch it. He didn't want it to happen ever again.

They were about six rows of cars away from the shopping center when Murphy noticed people by the entrance.

"Look, I think they're there!" he said and pointed at the small group.

Simmons narrowed his eyes to get a better view, because the sun was blinding them both and they could hardly see a thing.  
He slowed their car down and grabbed his gun with his right hand, but he kept it out of view just in case.

"Alright. Stay focused. They might be our saviors, but we don't want to strain our luck. Stay calm, self-aware. Don't let them see your fear.  
I think you and I both know the mentality of some soldiers these days."

Murphy snorted.

"I ain't scared" he muttered and shifted his knife, so he could grab his gun with the other hand, although he still wasn't very good at aiming and shooting it.

They drove closer and closer at a very low speed, and for some reason the others wouldn't move. They were just standing there by the doors, with shopping carts all around them, filled with trash and other stuff. Both groups stared at each other as they approached each other, and Murphy felt even more nervous when he noticed that none of these guys were wearing uniforms, there were no badges, no FEMA, no doctorish people.

"Isn't that..." Murphy tried to say, but then one of the others suddenly started yelling.

"Travellers!" he shouted and the entire group suddenly moved. A few of them ducked behind the shopping carts, others started running right at them.

With baseball bats, crowbars and _guns._

"Shit, shit! Turn around, turn around!" Murphy yelled and Simmons slammed the gear stick in reverse.

Tires were screeching as he drove back at full speed, then bullets started raining down on them.

"Fuck!" Murphy exclaimed as he was thrown against the window to his right because of the sheer force of the car turning around like that. He turned his head to look at the window where he'd hit his head, only to widen his eyes in shock. There was a large muscular skinhead with tattoos who was running right at him, with a metal baseball bat in his hand. The guy struck out and then hit the window which such a force that it cracked and fell inside their car, right on top of the younger MacManus twin, who started screaming.

"Get out!" bald man yelled and tried to grab him by his shoulders.

He had managed to take a hold of the moving car and was now clinging to it, while Simmons kept driving around like a madman.

"Get off!" Murphy yelled and managed to free one hand from underneath the window pane. He had lost his knife because of the impact, so all he could do was use his bare hands to fight the attacker off. He grabbed him by his bald head and then tried to yank him down. The stranger struggled violently, but Murphy still managed to pull him even further down. After some more struggling and dragging he slammed the man's head down on what was left of the car window, which made the guy wail in pain when pieces of the glass got stuck in his forehead.

"Fuck off!" Murphy roared and tried to do it once more, but then Simmons suddenly called out.

"Get down!" he shouted and Murphy did as he was told, without even realizing why he was supposed to do it. The bald guy used the moment of freedom to get away from the window and tried to climb inside the car on top of Murphy, but then Simmons raised his gun and pointed it right at the man's head.

When he pulled the trigger Murphy startled and groaned, because his ears were ringing and he couldn't hear anything for a minute. The gun had gone off right next to him and he felt dizzy as hell because of it. Simmons did another spin with the car which caused the shot man to fall out, but they were too fast, there were too many cars and too much trash around them, which was why Simmons and Murphy lost their orientation.  
  
They were horrified when they noticed that they were driving right back at the store. The younger of the two saw a man who was still hiding behind one of the shopping carts, and when he pulled a rifle and aimed it right at their windshield the dark-haired MacManus twin widened his eyes in shock.

"Look out!" Murphy screamed and ducked down, but the shooter was too fast.

He heard the loud PANG of the gun going off, then he heard how it scattered glass, and then there was nothing. The car kept driving, and when Murphy finally got back up again he only caught glimpse of a concrete pillar, which they rammed which such a force that he nearly snapped his neck. Murphy hissed and blinked a couple of times, in shock from the crash and shot.  
  
He could hear yelling and shooting all around him, but it sounded like it was underwater because his ears were still ringing from the gunshot and impact. He managed to free one hand and rubbed his neck with a groan, and when he looked down on himself he was actually quite surprised that he seemed to be fine apart from a few cuts in his face.

"Oh, fuck..." he muttered, dizzy as hell and world spinning around him.

"We need t'get outta here" he managed to say and turned his head to look at Simmons.

The man was just sitting there, head thrown back, eyes opened wide, with a bloody hole right between his eyes.  
Murphy opened his mouth in utter shock, but apart from a strained high-pitched gasp nothing would come out.  
_  
This couldn't be fucking real. That rifle guy couldn't possible be such a good shot that he could shoot someone like Simmons right in the head while he was sitting in a moving car like that. Just..._

"No!" Murphy finally managed to croak and struggled while trying to get the cracked window pane off his lap.  
  
He needed much force and violence to move it, but as soon as he was free he turned around and moved closer to his friend, to grab his shoulder so he could start shaking him.

"Keith! Come on, man. I need ye!" he called out and kept shaking him, but Simmons was just lying there, eyes wide open, with one of them starting to bleed. Blood started running out of the hole in his head and down his nose, and Murphy noticed the blood spatters and pieces of brain matter and bones on the head rest behind him.

"No!" Murphy whispered in utter shock, lips trembling because of the utter shock in pain.

A violent gasp escaped his mouth because he couldn't believe that Simmons was really dead, from one second to the next, ripped out of his life just like that.  
He started crying and wailing in pain because of the shock and loss, but then he just got angry.

"No! You motherfuckers! I'll fuckin kill yah!" he screamed as loud as he could and started kicking the glove department with all the strength he could gather.

"I'll fuckin kill yah!" he repeated, his blood now boiling with nothing but unstoppable wrath and fury.

He couldn't keep yelling like that because then he felt another pair of arms wrap themselves around his chest, with one hand being pressed to his mouth so he would stop screaming. He startled struggling as someone tried to pull him out of the car.

"Get him outta there! Search the car!" one man yelled somewhere behind him, and Murphy kept yelling and kicking.

Then he opened his mouth as wide as he could and bit the hand that silenced him with all the strength he could gather.

"Ah! Son of a bitch!" his attacker roared and let go of him, and Murphy used this freedom to twirl around while grabbing his gun and knife.

Before his attacker got another chance to grab him he kicked him between his legs and then his right knee, which sent the man with the filthy long black hair to the ground, screaming and wailing in pain. "Shoot him!" an other man yelled and when Murphy looked up he saw how a whole group of thugs came running at him, with heavy guns in their hands.  
  
They were about to aim them at him when the younger MacManus darted forward, grabbed the man he had kicked and yanked him back up by his hair, so he could keep him hostage. He pressed his knife to the man's throat and aimed his gun at the rest of the group.

"One _fuckin_ wrong move and I'll cut his fuckin throat!" he spat, chest heaving because of the excitement and terror.

His eyes were widened in shock and his pupils dilated like he was on drugs.

"You ain't gettin outta here alive" his hostage gasped from under his grip, but Murphy pressed the knife even tighter to his throat and kicked his calf.

"Shut up!" he spat and the man groaned in pain.

"Alright, let's just...talk about it, buddy. We can make a deal. You give us your shit we'll let you go. Everybody's gotta pay to enter my city, y'know" one of the other attackers said as he tried to get closer, but Murphy kept swaying his gun around at all of them, to stop them from coming closer.

"Let him go, motherfucker!" another man in the back roared.

Murphy tensed and had a hard time keeping his hostage in place.  
He knew that the odds were against him, because he was outnumbered and facing about 20 thugs at once.

"Come on, we can make this..." the leader of the group tried to speak up again, but when Murphy remembered that he was all alone and that Simmons was dead because of them he absolutely lost it.

"Fuck you!" he yelled and then aimed his gun right at the man's head.

He pulled the trigger and knocked him off his feed while keeping his hostage as a human shield.

"Fuck!" "Oh shit!" the remaining members of the group yelled in a mess of words and started running, but Murphy wouldn't hesitate. He kept pulling the trigger fast and efficiently, the Aequitas tattoo on his trigger finger moving continuously, mind going blank, concentrated on their heads and their heads only.  
  
It was like shooting fish in a tank, because the others were busy running and couldn't shoot him because of his human shield, and Murphy managed to shoot five men in the head before they got the chance to hide. He felt strangely comfortable like that, like he'd done shit like this before.

"No! Don't leave m.." his hostage called after his group, but that just made Murphy even more angry.

"Shut it!" the dark-haired MacManus twin roared and then hit the back of his head with the gun. He heard the disgusting and yet satisfying crack of his skull where the gun had made a dent, and then he dragged the body with him so he could use him as a shield while getting back to the crashed car, so he could hide behind it, get his stuff and get the fuck out of here.

"Move! Move! Surround this little fuck!" he heard one of the men yell and saw how a couple of them entered the shopping center, to hide and get the angle at him from in there. Murphy was halfway around the car when he noticed that there were men on the other side, guns pointed right at him. One shot at him but only hit the body he used as a shield, and the younger MacManus startled because of the sheer force of the bullet.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed and tried to duck down, but he knew that it was useless.

He was already getting surrounded, and knew that it was just a matter of seconds until someone would manage to shoot him in the back.

_It was so fucking unfair. He had been so close._

_Simmons had been so fucking hopeful._ He tensed and gritted his teeth, only to make the final decision. If he was going to die, then certainly not like a coward or idiot. He wasn't going to just stand here and hide behind a dead body. He was going to die in a hail of bullets, and he'd make sure that he was going to take as many of these evil fucks with him as he possibly could, to keep them from ambushing any more people after his death. Without a warning he suddenly dropped the body, aimed his gun at the shop window and shot at it, then he started running. He already prepared himself for the worst, maybe a couple of bullets, but somehow, nothing would happen.

What he did hear instead, was the sound of car engines and the loud voice of a man, that was coming to them through speakers.

" You are surrounded by the military! Put your weapons down and freeze! We have orders to shoot on sight! I repeat, drop your weapons and freeze!"

"Oh shit!" Murphy heard one of the thugs yell, and when he turned around to see what the fuck was going on he noticed how the entire group suddenly started running, away from him, and as far away from the approaching vehicles as possible. He was too baffled and confused to start running himself, because he was now facing three large military SUVs, with bright spotlights on their roofs. It was broad daylight but they still used them to blind him.

Murphy just stood there in pure shock and horror, because too much shit had happened at once. He leaned against their crashed car, fear and panic rushing over him as he raised both his hands in a defensive manner. He hated the military since Boston, but he knew what they were capable of, and since the thugs were already scared shitless because of them he just knew that he didn't stand a chance against them. So did as he was told and carefully placed his gun on the ground but still within reach, hands up in the air and trembling because he was frightened.

Then he saw them, about six heavily armed soldiers with rifles, who were running at him while another group covered them to their left and right.

"Where are you from?" one of the soldiers yelled at him, but Murphy was too shocked to answer.

He could only think about one thing: _I'm so tired and I don't want to die._

He couldn't get the image of Simmons getting shot out of his head, and now that the thugs were gone he could really process his friend's death.

"I'm..." he whispered and then two soldiers were already on him and forced him to the ground to search him.

"I said, where are you from?" the soldier repeated and then grabbed him by his black hair to yank his head up.

"Ow fuck! 'm...'m from Boston ye fuck!" Murphy finally managed to yell back at him, because he hated it when he was being manhandled like that.

The soldier let go of him and turned around to look at the rest of his crew.

"We've found them!"

* * *

_**62 days later** _

**June 25th 2009, 11:24am, Uptown, Augusta**

"You sure he said University hospital?" Daryl asked as he stared out of his window with a worried frown.

They were in Augusta, pretty much the city center, but there were no walkers, no people, no doctors no soldiers, absolutely no one.

Augusta was a ghost town.

He remembered what Atlanta had used to be like last year, when they had been so close to the city. There had been a shitton of walkers back then. And looters who shot old people in their heads. With Augusta it was strangely different. He could see burned out car wrecks and bodies on the ground, and it was unmistakable that there had been some sort of war going on here, because there were military vehicles parked in the middle of the roads, even a bunch of helicopters and two tanks. He could even see a bunch of dead bodies of soldiers, but there were no alive ones or undead ones.

He didn't like it at all.

He knew that some herd had to be there, maybe there was a hotspot where they kept lurking around. He turned his head when Connor spoke up.

"Aye. He said university hospital. Those are the ones they'd been in contact with til last month or so.  
He said they were workin on something last time they talked. He said we can't miss it.  
's right in te middle of the city and that it's guarded by soldiers and FEMA guys."

Daryl snorted.

"FEMA guys" he muttered and shook his head.

"Don't see no one around, do you?"

Connor massaged the back of his neck and stared out of the window to let his gaze wander.  
He started chewing on his lower lip and frowned.

"Aye, I gotta give ye that. 's kinda weird that there's no one around. Especially since this is sapposed t'be a large city."

Both men looked a bit around and then Connor chuckled.

"But 'm not exactly surprised, considering that this is redneck-fuckin-territory. I'm surprised that people actually used ta live in real houses here.  
I always thought you guys live in trailer parks 'n shit. And where are all the trucks, fer real. All I see is fuckin minivans."

Daryl frowned and looked at his friend.

"And yah complainin when I'm talkin 'bout potatoes, sheep fuckers and leprechauns?"

Connor chuckled and hit Daryl's left thigh a couple of times.

"'m just shitting ye, brother. But fer real, were are all the skyscrapers and shit?" he asked and turned the car around, oblivious to the fact how Daryl tensed at his touch and moved out of his way.

"This ain't Atlanta" Daryl growled and looked away, because once again he couldn't help but feel weird.

Connor suddenly pointed at a larger eight story building complex to their left.  
It was a large red brick building with white wings, and there on the top they could read it, against the black wall in large white letters -  
"UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL"

"Look, there it is" the Irishman noticed and Daryl looked up to get a better look at the large building.

He narrowed his eyes and then grabbed Connor's dufflebag to search for their binoculars.

"Slow down" he demanded and his friend looked at him with a frown.

"What? You see anyone?" he asked and looked at the hospital, but couldn't see anything.

Daryl grabbed the binoculars and then searched the surrounding skyline, eyes fixed on the hospital windows and roof.

"No. It don't feel right. Slower."

Connor frowned once more and kept an eye on the abandoned streets as he moved their Mustang around several crashed cars.

"We're not even there yet and yer already freakin out, man" he muttered, although he had to admit that Daryl had a point.

"Then explain this to me" the hunter said and let go of the binoculars so he could look the Irishman in the eye.

"No lookouts. No snipers. No guards, no blockades, no nothin. These guys've been broadcasting shit all over the country if Milton's right. So they just gotta be prepared for all sortsa shit. You can't have a medical facility like that with a possible cure, and then not be prepared for unwanted visitors. That's just stupid."

Connor started chewing on his lips again and then continued looking at the hospital.

"Alright Daryl Homes, we better come up with a plan then."

Daryl snorted and had a look through the binoculars again.

"You ain't gonna plan shit. Your plans always suck."

Connor smirked knowingly and chuckled.

"Aye, but ye love it when they go wrong and there's some action."

"Yeah, cos then I get to kick your stupid ass" Daryl countered and Connor chuckled even more.

"So ye like my plans _and_ my ass, interesting" he muttered as he drove around another corner and Daryl hit his chest with a soft chuckle.

"Shut up."

Both men fell quiet then, and Connor let out a gentle sigh.

"Eh, 'bout those girls earlier" he suddenly said.

Daryl tensed and turned his head away.

"Don't get started on that shit now. We're..."

A loud PANG and then the hiss off air startled both men and interrupted their conversation.  
Connor suddenly found it difficult to steer the car and slowed down.

"What te fuck was that?" he asked and looked at Daryl with a confused frown.

The hunter shrugged and then let his gaze wander, now alarmed and ready to act should anything weird happen.  
Connor managed to move their car to the side of the road and then hit the breaks.

"Jesus fuckin Christ" he muttered and then moved the steering wheel once more, only to hit it with his palm.

"Fuckin flat tire that's gotta be" he observed and turned around to look back on the street behind them,  
to see if they had run over splinters or sharp metal. But he couldn't see shit.

"Great" he growled and grabbed both his guns.

He put one in his leg holster and grabbed the other one with his right hand, only to exchange another worried glance with Daryl.

"Let's go outside, have a look, and if it's too bad then I guess we'll have ta walk"

Daryl nodded and grabbed his crossbow, looking just as pissed and worried. Despite the fact that neither of them could get attacked by walkers he still hated how they were now stuck in the middle of a large city without a car or any other means to bail out quick, so he was even more worried. Both men stepped out of the car and had a look around, then Connor crouched down next to the front of their vehicle to get a better look at the flat left tire.

"Cover me" he said to Daryl and then pressed his hand to the tire.

He felt the ripped and hot rubber which smelled burned and disgusting, and there was a large hole in its side.

"Shit. We've got a goner here. We can pretty much screw that" he observed and then got back up to wipe his hands.  
He stared at the shining black vehicle and shook his head.

"Jesus fuckin Christ, that was a nice car" he said and looked at Daryl, eyes nothing but slits because the sun was blinding him.

"Ye think we should risk changing the tire? Although we're almost there?"

Daryl stared back at his friend for a while and chewed on the inner side of his cheek. He knew that Connor was right about the almost being there thing, but he didn't like how they would have no ride otherwise. Even if they did get to the hospital in one piece, who was there to tell them that this place was any safer than out here? He nodded reluctantly and grabbed his crossbow tighter while making his way over to Connor.

"Yeah, but hurry" he said and his friend jogged to the back of their car, so he could get the spare tire, equipment, and the rest of their stuff plus the rifle bag they had stolen from Woodbury. Just in case.

He dragged the stuff over to the front of the car and Daryl grabbed some of it when he saw that it was still rather awkward for Connor with his healing wrist. The Irishman threw the spare tire to the ground and then grabbed the car jack to start pumping. He wouldn't stop looking around either, because the silence and ghost town atmosphere of it all crept him out as well. He couldn't wait to get the fuck away from here.

Daryl started walking up and down their car in slow circles, so he could keep an eye on all the nearby houses, cars, streets and alleys. He looked at Connor from time to time, who was kneeling next to the car now so he could get rid of the lug nuts. The Irishman wiped the sweat off his forehead and smudged it with dirt during the process, and now he looked like a weird mechanic, which made Daryl smirk.

"So yah actually weren't shitting when you said you really had cars in Ireland? Not carriages?"

Connor snorted and freed the tire from another nut.

"Fuck you, where do ye think I got me driver's licence from?"

He'd gotten that back in Boston and he had been the only one to get it, not Murphy because of the money issues, but it wasn't like Daryl needed to know that. The hunter raised an eyebrow and smirked even more, it was a private smirk since he had his back turned on the Irishman by now to keep an eye on what was going on behind them.

"Yah call this driving?"

"Jesus, you really fuckin love me taday, don'tche?" Connor grunted because the next lug nut was stuck.

"Real nice charmer y'are today" he went on and looked at his friend's back that was turned on him. Daryl chuckled.

"Yeah, got charm coming outta my ass."

"Pff" Connor retorted and looked at his friend's ass, trying to picture what that would look like. Charm coming out of his ass. Ha.

He got back to the tire iron and then started kicking it when the lug nut wouldn't give in.

"Fuckin...thing won't come off. Move! You! Fuckin! Bitch!" he grunted, but the tire iron wouldn't move an inch.

Daryl turned around and looked at him, and once again there was the infamous 'Really?' expression on his face. The hunter walked over to his friend and then kicked his ass because it looked way too inviting, and when Connor got up the hunter shoved him away to get to the tire instead. Daryl threw his crossbow over his shoulder and then leaned down so he could grab the tire iron with both his hands.  
  
His friend leaned against the car, folded his arms and watched him with a cocky smirk on his face. His expression screamed " _bring it on, then. Bet you can't do shit_ " at the hunter, which made Daryl even more determined. _Damn right he was going to bring it and show that loser that was his friend that he was way stronger than him._

He gathered all the strength he had and then started pulling and moving the tire iron, muscles in his arms tense and moving underneath sun-tanned dirty skin. He grunted awkwardly and kept pulling until the lug nut finally gave in, and for a second Connor couldn't stop staring because he was jealous and had to admit that even after all this time Daryl was still a whole lot stronger than him. The hunter still had more muscles and the Irishman hated that, because he was older, mouthier, which was why he was supposed to be the stronger of the two, which he wasn't at all.

Daryl shoved the tire iron to his chest which made the Irishman huff.  
He caught it just in time to stop it from falling to the ground, as Daryl walked past him and bumped into him on purpose.

"Pussy" he said, which made Connor pout and then snort.

"Bullshit. I already loosened this shit fer you. I did all the work."

"Yeah, you wish" Daryl said and kept walking. He grabbed his crossbow again to stay alert.

Connor crouched down again and got rid of the old tire when the rattling of metal on asphalt could be heard.  
The Irishman frowned and then looked down, only to see that a large caliber bullet had fallen out of the ripped tire.

"What te fuck" the Irishman said and grabbed it, only to hiss because it was still hot.

"Jesus fuckin .." he said, realization suddenly hitting him like a train.  
He looked up at the surrounding houses in surprise, and Daryl approached him with a frown.

"What's wrong?" his friend asked, while the Irishman started moving and tried to turn his head slowly and carefully.

"Move yer ass over here. Slowly. Don't let 'em know we're on 'em" Connor hissed and finally managed to catch a glimpse of his friend.

Daryl noticed the worried and tense look on Connor's face, and that was enough to make him understand that his friend wasn't joking.  
The Irishman kept making it look like he was still changing the flat tire, and Daryl moved even closer to him.

"Make it look like yer helpin me with the tire" Connor murmured and then grabbed the new tire, and Daryl crouched down next to him.

The Irishman slowly pointed at the bullet during one of his swift motions.

"Someone fuckin shot at us and made the goddamn tire explode" he hissed and put the new tire on, then he looked at Daryl.

"Make it look like yer talking and looking at me and check out what's going on inside the houses behind me.  
I do the same thing on the other side" he muttered and the two men looked each other in the eye, only inches apart, eyes then fixed on their surroundings.

"See anything?" Connor muttered after about a minute later.

The hunter shook his head.

"Nope."

The Irishman let out a frustrated sigh but then froze when he believed to see a guy up on the roof of one of the houses to their left.

"Shit. 3:50."

Daryl frowned and stopped staring at the surrounding houses, so he could look his friend in the eye with a frown.

"3:50?"

Connor looked at him as well and hushed him angrily.

"Shh! As in right be-fuckin-hind you, man" he hissed and then slowly reached out for their rifle bag.

"'m gonna grab te rifle, place yerself in fronta me and make it look like yer putting the lug nuts back on. Which, by the way, ye could actually do."

Daryl did as he was told whereas Connor reached out for the bag and kept an eye on the potential sniper.  
All the more did it surprise him when it looked like the guy saw right through their plan.  
He startled even more when Daryl suddenly wrapped his arms around his waist and wrestled him to the ground.

"Get down!" he yelled and then Connor suddenly heard shots going off right from behind him.

Within seconds there were even more gunshots, piercing the surface of their Mustang like it was made of tin foil.

"Jesus fuckin Christ!" Connor exclaimed and managed to grab the rifle just in time.

A second later a bullet hit the asphalt right where his hand had been, then he felt how Daryl grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pulled him away from the car. Connor managed to catch a glimpse of their attackers, there were three on the roof and more of them coming down the streets, a couple of them with motor bikes. It looked like it was a fucking _gang._

_Great._

They managed to get to the street corner and Connor was busy reloading their rifle when they suddenly ran into another bunch of guys, who had managed to close in on them from behind.

"Shit!" Daryl exclaimed and hit the first guy in the face with his crossbow, and when he was busy keeping his balance Connor suddenly twirled around, grabbed his Beretta and aimed it an the next bunch. They worked like a well established team, because Connor didn't even have to tell Daryl, the hunter ducked down right away, to give his friend the opportunity to fire his gun over his back. He used the time Connor was shooting at their attackers to reload his crossbow down there.

"Down!" Connor yelled as soon as their attacker was dead. He turned in the other direction, in perfect tune with Daryl, who got back up and aimed his weapon at the next bunch of people with machetes, baseball bats, guns and knives. Connor was busy shooting at the guys on motor bikes on the main street, and he did manage to hit one of their tires, which sent one of the bikers down, with more of them colliding with the crashed vehicle.

"Three!" Connor exclaimed and then exchanged his Beretta for the rifle, so he could aim at one of the snipers on the roof and who kept shooting at them.

Both men kept walking like that, back to back, Connor walking backwards and keeping an eye on the rear, Daryl walking ahead and keeping an eye on what was ahead. There were many guys closing in on them as they tried to get away from main street and the hospital, and they knew that it was only a matter of time until they would get overwhelmed.  
  
Daryl shot two arrows at the guys with guns, but when he realized that it took to long to reload his beloved weapon he threw it over his shoulder and reached back. Connor was busy aiming at the sniper, and the hunter used the time to let his hand travel down his friend's hip and then thigh, so he could get to his leg holster where he kept his other Beretta. Connor startled because of the touch and accidentally pulled the trigger, but missed the sniper.

"Fuck! I missed because of that, you fucker!" he complained and pulled the rifle bolt back to reload.

"It's cos you're fuckin blind!" Daryl roared and then pulled his friend's gun to shoot another guy who had managed to get dangerously close to them with his knife.

"Fuck you!" Connor yelled back and pulled the trigger once more, and this time he hit the sniper and sent him flying down the roof.

"Nailed him!"

"Two down!" Daryl informed him but then they came to a halt, because now there were fucking _cars_ involved.

The hunter widened his eyes when he saw a shiny red BMW speed right at them, and when he saw how one guy got out of the window and pulled a heavy rifle at them he started yelling again.

"Get down!" he screamed and pulled at Connor's shirt again, then bullets rained down on them once more, hitting the windows of a former clothing shop and causing thousands of pieces of glass to rain down on them.

"Jesus fuckin Christ, is that what they call a fuckin welcome party here? Not fuckin redneck my ass!" Connor roared as he kept running away, crouched down, hands covering his head as he tried to make it to a nearby alley.

He groaned when something suddenly hit him right in the guts, and it took him a moment to realize that one guy had manage to jump him from inside the shop.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed but instantly reacted. He ran at the guy and shoved him back, and when the man nearly lost his balance Connor buried his right fist in his side right where his kidneys were. The man let out a painfilled groan but couldn't do anything else, because then the Irishman used the grip of his rifle to knock him out.

"Down!"

"We gotta get outta here!" Daryl yelled and croaked when someone suddenly wrapped an arm around his throat and started strangling him from behind. Connor was still busy shooting at the red BMW and couldn't hear his croaks and struggling because of the noise of all the bullets and yelling. No matter what the hunter did, he couldn't fight his attacker of. He was even more horrified when the guy suddenly pulled a gun and aimed it right at his friend's back.

"Connor!" he croaked, but couldn't speak because of the lack of air, and just when the guy was about to pull the trigger to kill his friend he was suddenly knocked out by a brutal blow to his head.

Daryl gasped in shock and turned around, knife and gun ready to kill. He was staring at an old thin man with grey hair, who was staring back at him with wide eyes.

"This way!" he shouted at Daryl and then pointed at the back alley he'd come from.

Daryl turned around to see where Connor was, and when he saw how -close- the rest of the thugs were he realized that he didn't have any other choice.

"Connor!" he shouted which made his friend turn around.

"Grab your shit! Let's get the hell out of here!"

Connor shot another guy and then cursed, because he finally realized that it was hopeless as well.  
He threw the rifle over his shoulder, grabbed their backs and then started running after his friend and the stranger,  
praying to god that this wasn't some sort of stupid trap.


	10. Bob

"Come on! Get a move on!" the old man roared as he made his way through the dark alley, and before Connor or Daryl even got the chance to say something he suddenly jumped through a window to his left. Daryl stopped abruptly to see where the man went, and since Connor was busy looking back to keep an eye on the thugs he ran right into the hunter.

"Fuck!"

"Good lord!" Daryl exclaimed and turned around to face Connor with an angry frown.

"Watch where yah fuckin going!" he said but startled when somebody suddenly grabbed his arm.

"I said get a move on!" the old man repeated and then pulled him inside the building.

Since they could already hear the gang in the surrounding streets Daryl was left no other choice but obey.  
He climbed inside and Connor followed about a second later.

"Close the window!" the old man shouted and kept going.

Connor did as he was told and then ran after his friend and the stranger, who was making his way through a dark corridor.  
The Irishman noticed the lockers to their left and right, and when he saw all the posters and chairs he finally understood where they were: a school.

"What te fuck is going on out there?" the Irishman asked and walked faster so he could keep up with the old man, who was surprisingly fit for his age.

"We ain't got time to talk right now, sunny. Just keep the fuck goin" the man grunted and then turned to the left to open a heavy fire door.

Daryl and Connor exchanged worried glances, and it was the hunter who reacted.  
He grabbed the old man by his shirt and shoved him against the closest wall.

"Listen grandpa, we ain't going nowhere with you until you tell us who the fuck you are and what's going on in this goddamn city."

The old man gave Daryl a look that could kill, and within the blink of an eye he suddenly grabbed the hunter's crook of his arm, pinched hard and then twisted the elbow, which made Daryl yelp in pain in back off because of the sheer surprise. He couldn't believe that an old man could do something like that and not be scared.

"Hey, back te fuck off!" Connor yelled and tried to approach the man, who drew the machete from his holster and placed it right on the Irishman's throat. The blonde craned his neck so the blade wouldn't cut him. Daryl looked like he was going to kill the old man for that, but he wouldn't do anything either so he wouldn't accidentally hurt Connor.

"Listen, I don't need to save your sorry asses. If y'all wanna go out there and get shot to shit by a gang of robbers, then be my fuckin guest" the old snarled and withdrew the machete.

Connor rubbed his neck and wasn't just pissed, he was also quite impressed by the old man's skills. He looked at Daryl, who looked just as surprised. The older of the two friends snorted and then shook his head while raising his hands to show defeat. Maybe he was a bit intimidated and taken off guard by an old man, but it wasn't like anyone needed to know about that later.

"Alright, grandpa. Fuckin chill, alright? We can figure this out" he said, trying to calm the stranger down and maybe apologize for their behaviour.

Daryl shook his head because he still couldn't believe he'd been taken on by a senior citizen. Both friends finally followed the stranger through the fire door, down a flight of stairs and into complete darkness. The old man turned a flashlight on and kept going. Daryl and Connor followed him reluctantly, guns and crossbow drawn just in case.   
  
It looked like they were making their way through the cellar and boiler rooms of the former school, and the Irishman wrinkled his nose in disgust. It smelled pretty awful down there and they were ankle-deep in water, although you couldn't even call it water anymore. It was just a weird thick brown fluid that smelled like death, mold and feces.

"You live down here, old man?" Daryl asked after taking a look around the dark corridor and rooms.

Connor turned his head to smirk at his friend because of that remark.  
The old man just kept going until they reached another fire door at the end of the corridor.

"Underground tunnel system. It connects the entire campus. Hospitals, research centers, morgues, the whole crap."

Connor snorted.

"Aye. We can smell that."

He said and nudged Daryl, who just shook his head because he didn't think the joke was funny. So Connor kept chuckling to himself.  
They came to a halt in front of the fire door and waited for the old man to open it.

"Hold your horses, though. Didcha say hospitals?" Daryl asked and the old man raised an eyebrow.

"Yah deaf, boy? Geez, and I thought you're just dumb"

Connor started giggling, and Daryl narrowed his eyes at him. The Irishman looked back at his friend and shrugged.

"What? I can't help it, he's like te grandda version of you."

"Yeah, and you watch your tongue sunny, that grandpa can still kick your ass all the way back t'Brasstown" he grunted and then opened the door.

Connor and Daryl wanted to step right through, but both let out a surprised gasp when a snapping and growling walker came right at them.

"Jesus!" Connor exclaimed and Daryl tried to aim his crossbow and the undead, but the old man pressed it down.

"Nah ah, we don't want to do that, do we? Everyone say hi to Martie."

Connor frowned in utter disbelief and looked at the walker and then the old man.

"Martie?"

The old man turned his back on them and walked back to enter a room to their left. Both Connor and Daryl looked at each other and then turned their heads to examine the walker again, only to notice that he had a collar around his neck. A collar with the letters 'MARTIE'. The walker tried to get between them to stagger after the old man, and didn't seem too interested in the two friends.   
  
Only that the undead would stumble towards Daryl every once in a while, looking right at him with his dead eyes, and getting closer and closer, sniffing. When he wanted to reach out they suddenly heard some metallic buzzing sound. The undead got pulled back and stumbled, the iron chain mercilessly tugging on his rotting neck as he was pulled back through the door and into a room.

"Nice defense mechanism, eh?" the old man asked as he stepped out of the room again and made his way past the two dumfounded friends.

Connor and Daryl followed him after exchanging yet another worried look.

"My corridors, my rules" the old man said and kept walking.

Connor and Daryl stood by the door and looked at the fighting walker to their right who couldn't reach them, but still looked pretty intimidating and dangerous.

"Yah coming or what?" the old man called over his shoulder and both friends followed with a sigh.

"So if all this connects the buildings underground, then there's a good chance yah can take us t'University Hospital, right?" Daryl asked.

The old man suddenly stopped walking and turned around to face the two friends with a snort.

"Univer...pff. Let me guess. _'There is still hope. We're close to finding a vaccine. We offer protection. Food. The cure for mankind'_ " the man quoted, but neither Connor nor Daryl recognized the words. This made the old man frown, but then he just shrugged it off.

"Yah two obviously don't look like you've heard 'em. Well, good on you, cos all they tell is lies. That goddamn broadcast.   
Means nothin but trouble that shit" he said and started walking again and Connor rushed after him.

"So it ain't true? There's no one there?"

"Not at University Hospital at least. Or make that, none of those dumbasses are there anymore. All y'all gonna find is those punks yah already met."

Daryl frowned and walked faster as well, to keep up with his friend and the stranger.

"What'd you mean 'not at the hospital at least' and what'd yah mean by 'not anymore'?"

The old man stopped yet again and looked at the two friends.

"Listen here, son. I ain't got no clue where you've been for the past couple of months, but 'm pretty damn sure that you and your girlfriend ain't got no idea what's been going on in the big cities like that shithole here. Those things like Martie? They're the least of your problems here. 't least in Disgusta. It's the people y'all gotta worry about, and that's exactly what's happenin here" he said and opened another door. He didn't go straight ahead but made his way to the left to move along the walls of the corridor.

"I'd watch where I put my foot if I were you" he told Connor, who was just about to walk straight ahead.

This was when the Irishman noticed the hole in the ground, that was covered by only a thin plate.

"Right" the blonde said and followed the old man's path after nudging Daryl's chest to let him know about the trap.

The three men made their way around the hole, and the old man kept talking.

"When everything went t'hell, those guys from GRU were pretty determined to stop it, and all those military freaks and FEMA wimps covered their backs for a pretty long while. Even got rid of most of the geeks in the city. But not everyone joined their forces. Pretty soon there were gangs and looters all over the place, and for a whole couple of months they were busy shooting each other instead of killin geeks. And their goddamn broadcast just made it worse" he told the two friends and started walking normally again, now that there didn't seem to be any more traps around.

"For a moment it actually looked like they found something. This poor kid. Still don't believe it, but apparently, it kinda looked like the kid was immune to this crap."

Connor automatically tensed at the mention of this, and Daryl looked at him as well. The Irishman didn't know why, but suddenly he felt a hint of jealousy. For the past couple of months he'd thought that the whole immunity thing was some sort of cruel curse, and he'd had a pretty hard time getting used to it.   
  
But even with all the trouble, pain and confusion it had caused, the immunity had made him feel important and special, like he was really the only one. And now that it looked like he wasn't the only one after all, that maybe he wasn't so special, he was actually surprised when he realized that he was jealous and even disappointed.

"Anyway, that was 'bout two months ago. They were pretty dang close, but the street fights were getting worse and worse. That goddamn gang used their broadcast against 'em. There were whole groups of survivors like you, travelin here just because of that recording, thinkin there's a cure. And that gang kept ambushin them, robbed them blind and kept 'em from coming. Pretty soon they had far more weapons, supplies and gear than that GRU soldier crew because of all those ambushes. During one of those fights, the immune kid managed t'escape. So those little geeky doctors didn't just lose the fight against the looters, they also lost their goddamn hope for a cure."

Connor sighed and looked to his feet.

"Well, maybe ye just gotta keep believin" he muttered, and Daryl just looked at him with a thoughtful expression on his face.   
The old man snorted.

"Anyway, they stopped broadcasting when they packed their shit and moved. Just like that. Left the city center cos it got too hot here.   
Many of 'em died anyway. It's just a small crew now, down by the river. Ain't even sure if they're still lookin for their little miracle."

Daryl grabbed his crossbow tighter as he looked around.

"And how'd you fit in the picture then, hm? With all your little traps and your little maze down here?   
You their tourist guide or something? Augusta's finest freak show?"

The old man chuckled and looked at Connor.

"I like him" he said and the Irishman smirked at his friend.

"I bet. He's got quite the social skills that one."

"Screw you" Daryl automatically answered and Connor grinned even more.

"Touchy touchy."

"I was with the cleaning staff back at the hospital. Locked myself up down here for a bit, and was quite useful for 'em after shit hit the fan and they needed quick escape routes all over the city. Good t'know that you can't just shovel and hide piss and shit down here."

Connor raised an eyebrow at that remark, once again feeling quite disgusted by the smell and general look and even taste of it all.  
He'd thought that walkers smelled pretty awful, but this was nothing compared to a dirty and flooded sewer system underneath the city.

"So I guess that makes ye our man then, aye? You know yer way round the city, so you can lead us to this new hideout of theirs, can't ye?"

They reached another door and the old man opened it with a gentle chuckle.

"Trust me, y'all don't wanna get anywhere near those guys either. Looters or GRU staff, don't matter. They're all fucked up" he stated and opened the door for the two friends. He pointed at the stairwell behind the door to let them know that they're supposed to go first. Connor looked at him though, because of that last remark.

"Why'd you think that kid ran away from them? You go in there, they ain't lettin you out. It's like prison, but with needles, scalpels and nerds and shit.  
If you're smart, then you get the hell out of this goddamn city."

Connor walked past the man and looked up to get a better view at the stairwell above them.

"Yeah well, old man. Let us do te thinking and deciding."

Daryl walked past the man as well and looked at him while pointing at the stairs.

"This our way t'that river of yours?"

"It ain't, and I ain't gonna take you..."

"Hey, I just said what we do's none of yer fuckin business, alright? Thanks fer saving our asses, but we don't need yer fuckin help if ye won't take us over..." Connor interrupted him, but the old man shoved him. "Let me finish, paddy, alright?" the old man snapped and stared the Irishman.

"I ain't gonna take you there now. You need a ride? Fine, I'll do anything t'get your asses outta my city. And I ain't doin that for you, I'm doing that for myself and just so I can keep those goddamn looters from taking anymore shit like your toy crossbow and rifle. Those freaks up there are gonna spend the entire afternoon searching every single block for yah, so I ain't gonna put one of my ass cheeks out there anytime soon" he said and then walked past Connor to get up the stairs.

"They know their way around town like I know my way 'round down here. Best chance we get is to wait it out, and move first thing in the morning, just before sunrise when they ain't got too much of a crew out in the streets. Cos right now half the town is after your shit like foxes in a goddamn henhouse. _Their_ fuckin henhouse."

Daryl and Connor looked at each other again, the hunter all sceptical, the Irishman just questioning until the younger of the two friends gave him a gentle nod and sighed in defeat.

"Alright, we got you" Connor said, and then the three of them made their way up the stairs.

* * *

"Rule number one, you don't touch anything. Don't even look at it" the old man said as he slammed the door shut behind them.

Connor and Daryl entered the small and dirty apartment and had a look around, while the old man walked over to what had used to be a kitchen, so he could put his bag on the counter and start sorting cans. Both friends started walking to examine the rest of the apartment, and the old man wouldn't keep his eyes off them.

"Rule number two: no lights. No one goes near the windows. They got eyes all over the city. They spot us, you're dead.  
And it ain't gonna be one of them who's gonna kill yah two."

Connor snorted and grabbed one of the old newspapers that the man was storing in a corner.   
Daryl glared at him with an angry frown, because he was breaking the no touching and looking rule right from the off.   
The Irishman sighed and dropped the newspaper.

"Yer always this welcoming?" Connor asked and turned around to look at the man, who decided to ignore him and kept sorting his new supplies.

Connor put both his hands on his hips and looked at Daryl with a raised eyebrow, saying something like _'this is going to be fun'_. The hunter just shrugged and walked over to the next room to see what was going on in there. He let Connor do the talking, since he knew that his friend was better at that anyway. And he had to admit that the Irishman was kind of right. The old man really was like him, and he knew what that meant. Clash of the titans material. Nothing but trouble. So he decided to ignore the old man just as much.

"Anyway, thanks fer saving our asses. Really. 'm pretty sure those guys would've fucked us up sooner or later" Connor said and approached the kitchen, and the old man still wouldn't give in to some small talk. The Irishman rubbed his nose awkwardly and looked at Daryl once more, who seemed amused by his failed small talk attempts.

"Well. My name's Connor. That guy over there's Daryl. We're from.." he said and then frowned, because after all these months of being in Georgia, he still didn't have a clue where he actually was.

"Coweta county. South of Atlanta. Pretty close to Newnan" Daryl said and Connor nodded.

"Aye. That's where we're from."

The old man snorted and looked at them.

"Atlanta? And yah still decide t'get your ass inside another city? You really are dumb as a brick, aren'tcha?"

"Hey, you better watch your mouth, Gandalf" Daryl snarled but Connor raised his voice.

"Anyway, 'm sure yer name ain't Gandalf. Mind tellin us who's our saviour of the day?"

The old man stared at the Irishman after giving Daryl another angry look.

"Yeah well, Atlanta. My name is ' _it ain't none of your goddamn business_ ' from ' _mind your own business_ ' town in ' _shut up and get in the other room_ ' county."

Connor raised his eyebrows, completely taken aback and speechless because of the man's attitude.

"Bob" he managed to say after a moment and the old man frowned.

"What did you just say?"

"I'm...Imma call ye Bob then. You kinda look like a ..a Bob. With the hair and everything.." Connor said and then mimicked the old man's crazy hair with his right hand above his head.

'Bob' narrowed his eyes at the Irishman and grabbed a can, looking like he contemplated throwing it.

"I mean.. it's a nice haircut, don't..don't get me wrong, Bob" Connor said, his voice strained from fighting a fit of laughter really hard.

"I dig it. Te haircut, I mean" the Irishman went on, just making everything worse, which made Daryl move.

"Connor" he called out and his friend started walking, while moving his hand through his blonde hair.

"I can only hope that I get that kinda..hair when I reach your age. So yeah...aye, Bob."

The old man looked like he was just about to explode when Daryl finally managed to grab Connor by the collar of his shirt and pulled him outside the living room and into the bedroom next door. He closed the door behind them and then shook his head.

"Really?" he asked, and Connor finally started laughing.

"Come on, ye can't tell me ye didn't notice te fuckin hair. He..he looks like he put a helmet on and cut all the edges that stuck out. Fuckin Bob" he said and nudged Daryl's chest once more as he kept giggling to himself.

"You're awful" Daryl muttered and turned around, and maybe he didn't just do it to put his crossbow down but to hide the fact that he was smirking as well. He had noticed the funny haircut, too, and although he thought that it was pretty stupid he still had to try really hard not to laugh about the fact that Connor called the man "Bob" because of that. His friend was really ridiculous sometimes. Ridiculous and plain retarded, and he hated to admit that he liked it.

Connor sighed and had a look around the room.

"Geez. He's you, 30 years from now. Praying ta god that I don't have ta see that."

Daryl snorted.

"Like 'm gonna let yah stay for 30 years. You wish."

When he leaned down he suddenly felt a sharp pain on his side, and when he got rid of his wing vest he suddenly noticed the damp spot.

"Jesus fuckin Christ, yer bleeding" Connor said and noticed it just seconds before Daryl saw it himself. He felt his hip in surprise and stared down on himself to check where the blood was coming from, but then Connor was already on him and yanked his shirt up to see what was going on. Both men noticed the cut on the hunter's left hipbone, and it looked like a bullet had grazed his skin and caused him to bleed.

"Why the fuck didn't ye tell me that they managed t'hit yer stupid arse?" Connor exclaimed, instantly back in his motherhen mode like the uber-worried big brother he'd always been.

Daryl growled and moved away from his friend to get away from the touch.

"'s cos I didn't notice" he grunted and then walked over to their bags so he could get some of their health equipment.

He noticed the worried look on his friend's face as he sat down on the bed and snorted.

"Don't shit your pants. It's just a grazin shot."

Connor's joking and good mood was gone from one second to the next, and it was obvious that he didn't like what he saw.   
It wasn't like Daryl couldn't understand him and his worries, considering how a shot had turned out last time,   
when the Governor had shot him right in the guts and almost killed him with it.

He got rid of his shirt although he hated to do it with Connor right there, because he still hated it when anyone saw all the countless scars on his body. Then there was the obvious new weird shit he felt whenever Connor was around, but there was no way he was giving in to that and show defeat. He just ignored it, turned his back on his friend as good as he could and then tried to patch himself up, which was pretty hard to do because the wound was hard to reach.

"Pretty sure it was that son of a bitch on the roof that nearly shot your brains outta your melon" he muttered after a moment, and Connor snorted.

"Yeah, I woulda seen him sooner or later. There was no fuckin need ta go all martyr on me and jump me the moment tha fuck decides ta pull the trigger."

Daryl grabbed one of the large bandages they had stolen from doctor Stevens back at Woodbury and drenched it with alcohol just to make sure.

"Yeah, well. Next time I'm just gonna let 'em shoot your dumb head off so I can live in peace" he growled and tried to sound extra tough and grumpy, just to hide the fact that he felt vulnerable and embarrassed because of the whole scenario. It made him feel even more uncomfortable when Connor suddenly walked up to the bed, crouched down in front of him and snatched the bandage from his hands with an angry frown on his face.

"There's nothing fuckin wrong with admitting that ye care about someone, ye know?" he muttered and then pressed the bandage to his friend's grazing shot wound. He did it with more pressure than necessary, knowing that the alcohol would burn like fire on the wound. He got the reaction he wanted, an angry hiss and curse from his friend, who dug the fingers of his right hand in the bed sheet and used his left hand to smack the side of Connor's head.

"That hurt, asshole" he complained and Connor gave him a devilish grin.

"Oh did it, 'm so sorry, I had no idea.."

" I fuckin hate you sometimes" Daryl growled and then looked down on himself to see how the wound was doing.

He noticed the other bandage on his chest from the other bullet wound that was still healing, and he got even more pissed when he noticed that this one looked way too dirty as well. Connor just chuckled because of his friend's remark. He kept cleaning his friend's wound and then put a bandaid on it. He knew that the wound wasn't deep or dangerous, but he knew that it didn't take much to make his friend all dirty, and it didn't matter how superficial a wound was, dirt was always a bad sign and he didn't want Daryl to get infected with something because of that.

"Took us by surprise those fuckers, didn't they?" he muttered and smirked because Daryl wouldn't quit squirming.

"Yeah, well, I think they got what they had coming for 'em" the hunter answered in regards to all the men they had killed during the ambush, which made Connor grin.

"Aye. We did pretty well t'gether. You killing evil assholes, you doing my shit, I kinda like it. We should do that more often."

Daryl snorted.

"I ain't gonna start singing Ave Maria when I shot someone."

Connor chuckled and moved to Daryl's older bandage since he was busy with the whole cleaning and bandaging thing anyway. The hunter didn't like that at all though. He hated it because it hurt, but also because he didn't like the fact how close his friend was, and he loathed the whole getting touched thing anyway. He couldn't wait for this whole thing to be over and decided to look outside the window instead, just so he didn't have to face his friend and let him know how awkward it really was. But the Irishman could feel it and sense it anyway, because the hunter was more than tense and jumpy, but just like his friend he decided to ignore it.

"It's not Ave Maria, it's a fuckin family prayer. And we didn't sing it, we said it."

"Yeah, whatever. It's still stupid."

"Fuck you."

"Fuck _you_ ,"

Connor smirked, because somehow their conversations would always lead to this.   
He rubbed Daryl's chest wound with the bandage that was drenched with alcohol, a  
nd when he noticed how his friend yanked at the bed sheets yet again he smirked even more.

"Don't be a fuckin baby about it" he said and received a lazy kick to his knee for that.

He chuckled and then took a closer look at the wound.

"Looking good though."

"Me? yeah, don't have to tell me" Daryl grunted to keep a painfilled gasp inside.   
  
There was no way he was going to let Connor know that he was in pain and that the wound hurt like a bitch.   
He wasn't some sort of sissy like the Irishman. Never ever. Although he had to admit that it really was painful.  
Connor snorted.

"Won't disagree with ye there" he said which made the hunter raise an eyebrow at him.

Connor chuckled and hit his friend's chest gently.

"Just shitting ye" he said and Daryl nodded.

"Yeah, you better."

"Or am I?" Connor said at the same time and Daryl shoved him back, which made the Irishman laugh.

"Jackass" Daryl growled, because now this was just getting awkward and he hated it.

"No, 'm serious this time though" Connor said after a while.

"That sniper could've fried my brains like nothin and I wouldn't have known" he said and the hunter frowned at him, feeling even more awkward because now that Connor had stopped working on his chest wound he had actually placed his hand right next to his goddamn thigh on the bed.

"So thanks fer saving my ass again" the Irishman went on, which made Daryl even more confused. The younger of the two friends widened his eyes in utter shock when Connor suddenly leaned closer, getting closer and closer until their faces were only inches apart. The hunter flinched really hard and was just about to freak out, but then his friend suddenly let his head drop and started laughing.

"Yer fuckin face, man, priceless" Connor cackled and held his belly because he was laughing so hard.

He loved to fuck with Daryl like that, because it was so easy and because the reactions were always beyond funny and brilliant.

"Like a fuckin rabbit caught in headlights. Shoulda videotaped that shit" Connor laughed and got up, oblivious to the fact that Daryl was just sitting there on the bed, absolutely mortified and scared shitless.

He was far from used to that sort of near and closeness, because whenever someone had come close to him like that before some horrible shit had happened. Back when he'd just been a kid, and it still sent a shiver down his spine and made him panic. And just like back then the sheer panic left him speechless and unable to move. Countless bad memories replayed themselves inside his head from all the bad encounters with his father, _abusive_ encounters. And since he'd sworn to himself that he would never ever let anyone catch him off guard and make him feel like that ever again, something in his mind just snapped and he got up to go after Connor.

The Irishman was still laughing to himself because he thought that he was absolutely hilarious with his cocky behavior, and when he turned his head to look at Daryl he already felt the fist in his face. "Ow! Jesus, fuck!" he exclaimed and held his jaw in utter shock, eyes widened in disbelief because he couldn't understand why Daryl would do something like that.

"You do that again and I won't just fuckin punch you" the hunter snarled, limbs still buzzing with the sheer shock and terror from this encounter, mind still racing with all the memories, the shame and the hatred.

"It was a fuckin joke, you asshole! Geez, fuck, I think you broke my fuckin jaw!" Connor exclaimed and massaged his pulsating cheek, although he knew that his jaw wasn't broken. Maybe he was exaggerating, but that was nothing compared to Daryl's overreaction.

He tried to throw a punch at his friend just because his jaw freaking hurt, but then Daryl was already gone, with the door slammed shut behind him. Connor just stared at the door in surprise as he kept rubbing his aching jaw. So maybe he'd tried to test the waters a bit, but he couldn't understand why his friend would react like that. So extremely aggressive and violent, which made him just as pissed. It had been a pretty long while since he'd last been close to someone, and maybe he missed that.   
  
No matter how fucking wrong and actually disgusting it really was. It wasn't like he wanted to get it on with Daryl or any other man in that regard, thank you very much. But it annoyed the crap out of him how uptight Daryl really was, and it didn't matter if he had been joking or not, because if he was honest, even he didn't know if he'd been trying to joke around or not. Because he couldn't stop thinking about what his friend had told him once, during one of their endless fights over the fact that he had kept calling Daryl Murphy for months.

_Or do you just want me t'be your stupid friend and pet your ego just so yah can keep pretending I'm like yah brother, so yah don't have t'waste a thought on the fact that you're fuckin lonely._

So maybe he was lonely. So fucking what. And even if there wasn't any of that crap going on and even if they were just friends, which they were anyway: He did lots of shit without thinking about it because he loved to fuck with people just to annoy them. He couldn't help it. He'd always done this sort of thing with Rocco, Murphy and Romeo, and he didn't see the point in stopping that now. He'd just tried to lift the mood a bit after all, and he didn't get why Murphy and now Daryl never understood his fucking jokes and took them the wrong way.

He rubbed his aching jaw once more and walked over to the window, ignoring rule number two as he opened it, sat down on the window sill and then lit up a smoke.

"Screw ye then" he muttered with the smoke in his mouth, because now he was just huffy.


	11. Past

It got dark by the time Daryl finally returned. Connor had been sitting on the window sill the whole time, lost in thoughts, chain smoking although he knew that he should rather save his last couple of cigarettes for later. When his friend opened the door the Irishman just looked at him for a moment, only to turn his head again so he could watch the dead city.

Daryl just stood there in the door frame, chewing on his lip and unsure what to do.  
He felt sorry for his behaviour earlier, but they both knew that neither really was the type to admit anything and apologize.  
He stood there for a while and watched Connor brood, then he closed the door shut behind him and walked over to his friend.

"See anything?" he asked, a peace offering, and Connor turned his head once more.

The Irishman looked at his friend, maybe judging him a bit, and Daryl winced when he saw the developing bruise on the blonde's jaw.  
Connor cleared his throat and then pointed at something.

"Saw a couple 'a lights over there about an hour ago. Pretty sure they're still searching fer us."

Daryl looked in the direction Connor was pointing, but couldn't really see anything apart from dark houses and a few shambling undead in the streets.

"And then there's tha house over there, see?" Connor asked and pointed further East.

Daryl got closer to him so he could see what was going on, since the house was pretty far away.

"They got their lights on like, the whole time since it got dark. And it looks like it's pretty close t'the river.  
So I think it's gotta be that new hospital thing of theirs. Our next destination."

The hunter nodded when he saw what his friend was talking about.

"Good point" he said and then used their closeness to get a better look at his friend's abused and stubble covered jaw.

Connor seemed to notice it, because he couldn't hold back a remark on that.

"Looks inviting enough fer another punch?"

Daryl snorted.

"Since when do yah bear such a fuckin grudge?"

The Irishman just stared back at his friend. He wouldn't say anything, he just took a drag on his cigarette and stared out of the window again.  
Daryl chewed on his lower lip and wouldn't stop looking at Connor, until he let out a frustrated sigh.

"I don't..I didn't mean t'do that. It just happens, alright?"

Connor snorted and rubbed his nose.

"Aye. Just like I happen t'ferget that everyone needs a fuckin invitation t'get closer than five feet t'you."

He looked down on Daryl and then raised an eyebrow.

"Watch out, yer close t'me. Shit might go wrong.."

"Fuck you" the hunter growled then looked down as well.

"Don't need no invitation. Just a fuckin warning might be nice. Yah just freaked me out, alright."

Connor kept looking at his friend, who avoided eye contact. He was pissed at Daryl, that was true. It wasn't like he was a sissy about fighting, and it wasn't like he didn't like a good old fight with friends, but he hated it when it caught him off guard, when it caused him to have visible bruises like some abused chick who got beat up by her husband or crap like that.  
  
Especially when he had attempted something entirely different just moments before. But then there was the other part to it, the fact that he knew why Daryl kept doing that. It was just an awkward issue, and he tried really hard not to take it personal. But it was impossible to do that because he was a stranger to that kind of past and the fear of touch. He sighed and shook his head.

"Listen, I understand that shit hit te fan in yer life before all that chaos.  
But ye can't expect me ta be understanding and more sensitive about all that if ye don't tell me shit about it."

Daryl snorted and turned away. Once again he could feel the panic rise, the disgust, the denial and hatred.

"Ain't nothing t'talk about. Son of a bitch got what he deserved."

His father, he meant, and clenched his fists when he realized that he had spilled that bit of information.  
Connor rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes because he was tired.  
Not just because of the running and nearly getting killed, but also because he was actually tired of everything right now.

"Just fuckin tell me, man. Fer real. Ye want me t'keep my distance? Fine. At least tell me why. I ain't gonna laugh at ye or shit like that. I've come across a whole bunch of sickos like that. Ain't nothing I haven't seen yet. Besides, what's so fuckin wrong about spilling that bit of information and burying it once and fer all? Think it'll make him rise outta his grave? And don't give me the 'it's done anyway' crap, because it obviously ain't fuckin done fer you. Cos yer repeating the same shit with me, and 'm getting sick and tired of that."

Daryl just stood there with his clenched fists and stared at the ground.  
He knew that Connor was right about everything, that this was far from done, but he did feel weak and embarrassed by it.  
Ashamed, because he felt guilty and didn't want his friend or anyone to know that he had been weak once.

"He beat me, he got bit, I shot 'im in the head and got my revenge. So yeah, it _is_ done" he said, although he knew that the shooting was a lie.

His uncle had done it. Not him. He hadn't been able to do it back then. But he didn't want his friend to know that.  
Connor frowned and looked at his friend.

"How come ye were even there when he got bit?If he was such an abusive asshole? Why stay with 'im?"

Daryl tensed, and although he knew that his friend was looking at him he just kept staring in the other direction, back turned on the Irishman.  
He hated that that asshole was so smart.

"We were on a huntin trip up in the mountains. With my uncle Jess."

Connor snorted, which made Daryl look at him.

"Y'know. Ye keep playing the tough fucking redneck on me all te time.  
The oh so tough Daryl Dixon who doesn't talk about his past cos talking is fer whiny people.  
But ye didn't have the fuckin balls t'get away from this asshole, or your brother, even when you were like what? 36?"

"Hey don't go all smartass on me!" Daryl snapped and got closer to his friend, fists clenched and ready to punch because of that remark.  
Their faces were only inches apart and he was like a pitbull in that regard, but Connor didn't look intimidated at all. He was used to that after all.

Daryl knew that it was all true though. He had been weak, which was exactly the point why he was desperately trying to be aggressive and had to destroy everything that was considered weak. A tight relationship with a friend, closeness, touch, and maybe even fucking more. He wanted it to be gone. Connor just sat there on the window sill and looked at him, all smug and thinking he was winning the whole thing. Which pissed Daryl off even more. He started pacing around like a nervous dog and wouldn't stop giving his friend angry glares.

"I was _34_ , and I didn't have no one else but them. So don't be all smug about that shit and hide behind your " _I had a twin bro and a nice family_ " attitude. Merle was locked up, I had no fuckin job, no money, no chick or stupid mission from god" he spat and realized how pathetic he sounded. Connor kept quiet and just listened." All I had was that bastard. And family's family. You don't turn on your own blood" he snapped and when Connor still wouldn't say anything he just kept going.

"Besides, that shit was long since done by then. He tired t'put a fucking hand on me and I would beat the old fuck to a bloody pulp" he added, although that wasn't true either. He had thrown a couple of punches, but in the end he'd always lost. Because that sick bastard had been _strong_ and a whole lot heavier than him.

He startled when Connor suddenly got up and approached him.  
The Irishman grabbed his shirt by its collar and yanked it down, and he was too paralyzed to fight him off right away.  
They both cold see the dark and purplish x-scar on his right collar.

"And how many years before that shit stopped huh? Y'don't think I get that that shit's right here's the reason ye flinch every time I get close t'you? Or Carol? Or anyone else?"

"Get off me" Daryl all but managed to whisper, because he was too furious and shocked to start yelling at his friend.  
And for the first time he actually feared that he could really hurt the Irishman because of that.

"No I won't. How many fuckin years, huh? Tell me! When did that shit start? When was the thing with the dog? When you was 7? So when did he get started on _that_ shit? When you was 6?5? 3? And how long before ye had the balls t'fight back? til ye were 16?14? What'd he do? Huh? Go all Daddy on you and fuck you up with hunting knife or a fuckin belt?"

"It ain't none of your fuckin business " the hunter snarled, eyes narrowed at his friend and shining nothing but hatred at him.

"What'd he fuckin do t'you? Come int'yer room at night and do shit t'you?"

"Shut up!" Daryl spat and tried to shove his friend away, but Connor kept invading his personal space and wouldn't back off.  
It soon became pretty clear that the Irishman had been playing him all along,  
that he was much stronger than the hunter and could easily win a fight if only he wanted to.

"Did he fuckin touch you?" Connor yelled at him and Daryl was fed up with the whole thing.  
He didn't hold back anymore and tried to throw a punch at the Irishman.

"I said shut up!" the hunter roared and groaned when Connor dodged his blow and shoved him against the wall, fingers buried in the hunter's creased and dirty shirt.

"Or what? Ye gonna beat me t'a bloody pulp to make up fer the fact that ye couldn't do it with Daddy?"

"I'm gonna kill yah!" Daryl roared and buried his knee in the Irishman's stomach.

He started throwing punches but for some reason still lost, because Connor tripped him up and made him fall to the ground.  
The Irishman grabbed is friend by his shirt and turned him around, only to sit down on him to keep going.  
He was even more surprised when Daryl suddenly started yelling to show defeat.

"He did, alright?!" he spat and Connor froze.

"He fuckin did" the hunter repeated, black hair partly clued to his forehead while the rest of it stood up at a weird angle.

His face was red because he was so furious, full of hatred and yet shame and defeat.  
His eyes weren't only red from the anger and the fight, they also burned with the memory.

"Now get off me or I swear 'm gonna stab your guts where it hurts" he said and looked at the Irishman with crazy wide eyes, like a trapped dog that was baring its teeth.

"You fuckin done yellin in there you two shitheads? Yah wanna invite the whole goddamn city over while you're at it? Morons!" they heard the voice of an old man roar from the other side of the door. Then there was loud banging and another string of insults. Daryl had lockedthe door on his way in here just to make sure the old man couldn't jump them. The hunter craned his neck so he could see the door, and Connor looked up as well.

"Sorry, Bob!" the blonde answered and Daryl used his friend's inattentiveness to shove him off of him.

Connor gasped in surprised but managed to get a hold of himself.  
After some struggling he managed to sit up, just like Daryl, who was trying to sort his clothes in a hurry and still looked rather emotional and angry.  
The Irishman sorted his clothes as well and then looked at his friend, remorse suddenly rushing over him.

"I...I didn't mean t'push ye like that" he muttered, although this was a lie.

He had done the whole thing on purpose, the insulting, the fight, just to get more out of his friend.  
Because he knew that Daryl would never talk about it on his own.  
He knew that it was a dickish move but he had always been cruel in that regard.  
Because he knew how to get to the truth.

"Yeah, well fuck you" Daryl answered, voice still thick with emotion. He buttoned his shirt up and avoided eye contact.

Connor moved his hand through his messy blonde hair and sighed.

"I just wanna help you, man. Like you did back then. Cos that's what friends do" he said, which made his friend snort.

"No, you just want me t'let yah near me because after all this time yah still think I'm just some fuckin substitute for your brother.  
That ain't helpin, you're just selfish 'bout it."

"It ain't got nothing ta do with Murphy. Honestly. Not anymore. It's got t'do with the fact that yer the only fuckin person I've left and that yer the one who keeps me from being a miserable, lonely asshole" Connor countered and wouldn't stop staring at his friend in disbelief.

Maybe it had been like that back at the farm, but that had changed. He really cared about Daryl now, really saw Daryl and Daryl only. He had said goodbye to Murphy, and although it still hurt very much he was letting go. But the only logical next step for him was to cling to the next person. Because he was clingy and obsessed, because he had been a twin all his life and still didn't know how to be a person of his own.

Daryl turned his head and looked at the Irishman, surprised to hear him say something so honest and true.  
There was a part of him that still doubted it though, that told him that Connor was just using him like everybody else.  
And he wasn't too surprised that that part of his brain talked to him in Merle's voice.  
Even now he could see him sit between them, laughing at Connor and mocking him.

_Yah know that goldieface's just lying to you, baby brother. He don't need yah. He don't wanna hear about your pathetic little life. He just wants t'be close to yah, hold his brother, see his brother grin at him, not you. And look at him. He'll do anything t'get that. He fucks with you, and he even killed me t'have his little bro lookalike all t'himself. You don't need him either, Darylena. Now that I'm gone you don't need no one. They're all gonna die anyway. Don't turn your back on your big bro Merle. Don't betray me with the traitor who got me killed._

He gritted his teeth and nodded in his mind, because Merle just had to be right.

"I'm here to get your ass to this hospital so we can find a cure. Not t'talk about your whiny feelings. Whatever yah think is goin on between us.  
Ain't true. I'm stuck with you cos I saved your life, because you saved mine, and because yah immune t'this shit.  
And because you're a decent fighter. Nothin more."

It was like he could almost hear the crashing of something that sounded like porcelain in his friend's head. Of course, that wasn't real and just a shitty metaphor, but he thought of that when he saw the look on his friends face. He would be lying if he said that it didn't hurt to see Connor like that, because it _did_. But there was no way he would get any closer to the Irishman than he already was, because he didn't want to feel what he'd felt when Merle had died. Getting close and actually loving people just meant that it would hurt even more when you lost them.

And there was an other part to that as well. Seeing the lights had made him realize that. The hospital and cure could mean that he _could_ lose Connor.  
He'd heard Bob talk about it after all.

_Why'd you think that kid ran away from them? You go in there, they ain't lettin you out. It's like prison, but with needles, scalpels and nerds and shit._

He didn't want to be weak, especially not after everything he'd just admitted. His past, his father.  
Connor had been right about it. He had been weak back then, unable to escape what brought him down.  
But he wasn't like that anymore. He knew what was right for him

And it didn't matter that he wanted to take everything back, close the distance between them, maybe even hug that Irish weirdo because he mattered so much and didn't even fucking know it. He wanted to go back, to the prison, the fire station, when everything had been easier between them, when they'd done all sorts of pathetic shit like hugging, taking care of each other and even sleeping in the same bed.

Except that Merle had destroyed all that. With his return and most importantly: his death. It wasn't like Daryl was back to his old life and attitude. He knew exactly what he was doing and that it was wrong, but the truth was that he was just bitter. He was having a hard time because he'd lost his hope. Merle had been an asshole. Connor was right about that. But as long as Merle had been alive, back at Woodbury or with him at the prison, everything had been okay for him. It had kept him from having to adjust to this new world, because before Merle's death nothing much had changed for him. He'd always been running, always been fighting and hunting. But there had always been hope. Family.

But now that he had lost all that, he was scared of relationships. More than ever.  
This new world sucked and he hated it, and there was no way he was allowing it to take even more from him.  
Although that meant that he had to keep something from himself.

Connor pressed his lips together, obviously hurt and instantly sober after all the emotional mess and admitting shit.

"Right" he just said and got up, while Daryl kept his eyes locked on his friend.

Silently praying that Connor should see right through him, read his mind, see that he was lying, just so he didn't have to speak it out. But Connor didn't do anything like that at all. He looked defeated and went back to the window sill, cigarette in his mouth, lost in thoughts. Daryl just sat there on the ground for a little while longer as he watched his friend, wondering about only one thing. _How much more would it take to break Connor? His spirit?_

He didn't know why he kept doing that. Why it got worse and worse the stronger their connection got. Or maybe he was lying there again. He knew why he was like that: he'd been raised like that. If something is yours, if you're in a deep relationship with someone, if it's brotherhood, family or friendship, if they're yours, then you've got to break them. Destroy them and mark them with bruises and words, just to let the whole world know and make them see that they're yours. That they belong to _you_ , and that all the pieces that make them them belong to you. You've got to slice them up, take them, keep them to yourself just so no one else can have that.

Fucked up, that was, and he knew it. He just didn't know how to change that. And he wished that Connor could understand that Dixon family code.

"We should sleep. Gonna be a tough day tomorrow" Daryl said and got up to head for the bed.

"Yeah" Connor answered from the window, voice lacking strength or emotion.  
He didn't sound like anything, his voice just sounded empty.

* * *

Daryl had been asleep for a couple of hours, so he didn't take notice of Connor when he finally climbed into bed as well. When the hunter finally woke up in the middle of the night he was actually surprised to see that his friend was with him, although the blonde had his back turned on him and there was a whole lot of space between them. Connor was lying right by the edge of the bed, far away, fully clothed and fast asleep.

Daryl watched his friend's back rise and fall with every breath the Irishman took, and once again the guilt and pain kept stabbing the insides of his guts.

He just wanted to take it all back.

He hated to be like that. Grumpy, pissed off, lonely and broken. He wanted to change, he wanted to be like the Irishman, hell, maybe he even wanted to be this Murphy guy. He was really impressed with his friend. How much he could take, how he wouldn't just say fuck you, turn his back on him and leave. Because Connor could do that now. He had taught him to track and hunt, the guy had done a whole lot of training back at Woodbury. He was strong, he was smart, he could hunt and kill. He could survive without him now, and Daryl knew that.

The only thing that kept Connor here was the fact that he had Murphy's face, but now that he really seemed to get over his twin's death he wasn't too sure if that would keep the Irishman here if he kept being such a dick to him. He kept pushing and pushing Connor away, but at the same time this was his greatest fear. _What if the Irishman really did it one day? Leave him, listen to him and go away?_ He was walking on pretty thin ice here, and that scared the crap out of him.

"Connor?" he called out and automatically tensed, because he didn't want to screw this up again.

There were so many fucking things going through his head, all the things he wanted to tell his friend.

_I'm so fucking sorry. I don't wanna hurt you anymore. You fucking matter to me. So much, you don't even know. I don't even deserve to have some bastard like you in my life. You're the first person to care about me, you're the first person to actually ask me about my life. I want you to be close to me. I want you to hold me and all that sissy crap. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I fucking need you._

But for some reason, all that ever left his mouth, was nothing but the exact opposite.

_Fuck off, I don't want you here, I hate you, I'm going to kill you, a punch to your guts, a fist in your face, a knife to your throat, two hands around your neck and ready to strangle you to death._

He wanted to mentally slap himself.

Connor wouldn't answer so he called out again, but it looked like the Irishman was knocked out cold. Exhausted from the running and fighting, hungry, and burned out from the incredible heat. Daryl started chewing on his lower lip, and now that he thought about it, maybe it was a good thing that Connor wouldn't wake up. He struggled for a whole while.  
  
Chewing on his finger nails, tossing and turning, until he had enough and just did it. He moved closer to his friend, closing the distance, actually shaky because he was scared shitless by his own behaviour. He prayed to god that Connor wouldn't wake up now, because this was something he needed to do without his friend actually knowing about it. That would make him a hypocrite after that shitty speech after all.

He froze when Connor shifted once, panic rushing over him. But then the blonde mumbled something and twitched, like he was still fast asleep and dreaming about something. After just lying there all motionless and staring Daryl started moving again, and this time he managed to get close enough. He was careful, and after all the fighting and punching, actually _freakishly_ tender, scared to wake his friend up or break anything when he was asleep and vulnerable like that.

But he still closed the distance between them until his chest connected with Connor's back, dug his arm under his friend's and then wrapped it around his waist. He only moved every couple of minutes, still too afraid to wake the Irishman up, but when it got clear that the blonde wouldn't do that he moved his hand up his belly and then to his chest, so he could dig his fingers in Connor's shirt and maybe he pulled a bit, because he was getting desperate.

He was actually surprised how much he needed that, the closeness when their everyday life was all about pushing and distance, but just for a moment he wanted dragging and closeness. He could feel the rosary in his hand and dug his fingers even more into the fabric of Connor's worn out dark grey shirt. The hunter moved even closer and buried his face in his friend's shoulder.

"'m sorry" he mumbled into Connor's back and froze yet again when the Irishman suddenly moved, into the embrace, and when Daryl looked up in horror he could see that Connor's eyes were still closed, but he was actually smiling. It startled him even more when his friend suddenly grabbed his hand and intertwined their fingers.

He already wanted to say something and part of him couldn't believe that they were actually doing that crap. Although it was awkward as hell and -so- not him Daryl had to acknowledge the fact that he was actually making Connor smile for once. Because smiling meant happiness, not pain, and that was a good thing to cause. The best thing to cause if he was honest. His mouth was already open, ready to say something, when Connor suddenly moved yet again, grabbed his hand even tighter and spoke first.

"Murph" he said and smiled even more without opening his eyes, and Daryl turned into stone, the tiny smile gone, eyes empty and emotionless.

Connor wasn't smiling because of him, because of the touch.  
He was smiling because he thought that he was his _brother_.

Daryl let go of his friend and then moved away, back to his old position, because there it was again: the ghost in the room.  
Right between them, all curled up around Connor like a fucking snake, looking just like him and giving him a devilish, mocking grin.

 _He's mine. He always will be. I won't ever be gone_ Murphy said to him in his mind, and Daryl just clenched his fists.

How awful it was that the little prick was already dead. If only he was still alive. Just so he could kill him _again_ for getting between him and Connor. The hunter pressed his lips together and tried really hard not to feel hurt, but he couldn't fight it. He turned his back on the Irishman and grabbed his pillow, buried his fingers in there, ready to rip it apart.

 _He just wants t'be close to yah, hold his brother, see his brother grin at him, not you._ _He don't need you._

Merle kept repeating in his head. Over and over again. Daryl cursed and then threw the pillow away.


	12. Sewers

The loud banging on the door woke Daryl up with a start. The hunter blinked and then shifted, hair a complete mess and glued to his forehead. He'd been sleeping on his belly, and it took him a moment to focus. He didn't even know where he was which resulted in him being confused as hell, but when he turned his head in the direction of the door and when he saw the window he remembered again.

Augusta. The hospital. The ambush. On the run.

He moaned gently and rubbed his itching eyes, but there it was again, the banging, and then the yelling.

"Get up yah morons! We gotta go!" the old man that Connor liked to call 'Bob' yelled.   
There was one final bang on the door and then he was gone.

Daryl turned on his back with a sigh and then stared at the ceiling just so he could wake up properly. It was still way too fucking early. That was all he could think about right now. The sun wasn't up yet, it was still dark, the heat of the sun was gone. It was a damn shame that no clocks were working anymore, but he was pretty sure it had to be around 2 or 3 am in the morning.

 _Way_ too fucking early.

He turned his head to see how Connor was doing after that rude awakening, and he was rather surprised to see that his friend was still asleep. It was a bit weird, to be honest. He knew that Connor usually slept pretty light, and most of the time he didn't really need that much sleep either, but then he remembered that his friend had taken the night watch shift the day before. And the day before that. Sooner or later even leprechauns needed to sleep, he supposed.

The hunter turned on his side and moved closer to his friend to wake him up.   
He still felt a bit weird and upset because of last night, but this was a new morning, a new day, so maybe he just needed to forget about it now.   
He didn't dwell on the past, he was living in the present. At least he tried to keep telling himself that.

The hunter placed a hand on the Irishman's shoulder and then shook him gently, to let him know that it was time to wake up.

"Connor" he called out but not too loud, although he knew that the blonde was a morning person after all.

He shook the Irishman again and then the blonde finally shifted with a gentle moan.

"Fuck off" came the answer just like every single morning.

Daryl tried to be pissed as well, but somehow he just couldn't.  
He smirked and nudged his friend's shoulder a bit harder this time, only to get up so he could get ready for their upcoming travel to the hospital.  
Connor moaned once more and then turned on his back, shirt and hair a complete mess, and face rather wrinkly from the deep sleep.

"What time is it?" the Irishman muttered as he rubbed his eyes and scratched his forehead.

Daryl was busy sorting their stuff in their bags and wouldn't look at his friend.

"'We _gotta get to the freakin hospital before these thugs get us_ ' time" Daryl answered and then threw his friend's duffel bag on top of him, just to annoy him.

Connor huffed because of the sudden weight on his chest and then growled.

"Right, I forgot about tha shit" he mumbled and then sat up.

It was awfully quiet after that, because both men remembered what had happened the day before. It didn't look like Connor had noticed anything that had happened during the night, and although Daryl was glad about that it still didn't make him feel any better about it. Connor got up from the bed and moved his healthy hand across his face, then started searching for his shoes.   
  
He was still a bit sleepy, that was true, but he wasn't grumpy because it was so early.   
He was grumpy because of everything his friend had said yesterday.   
They wouldn't speak anymore and got ready, and when they opened the door Bob was already standing there,   
foot tapping on the floor, all nervous, grumpy and impatient.

"You havin fun in there?" he asked in a sarcastic voice.

Connor walked past him, duffel bag strapped around his shoulder.   
The Irishman snorted and headed for the door.

"Yeah, loadsa _fun_ " he muttered and Daryl, who was exiting the bedroom right after his friend tensed and gritted his teeth.

_Great._

"Just get us to that new hideout of theirs" the hunter demanded, no longer able to hide his grumpiness as well.

* * *

"So what's the deal with you two and the GRU?" Bob asked as they made their way across one of the many streets in downtown Augusta. The three men were walking around in the dark, but the old man seemed to be completely comfortable with it. Connor and Daryl kept looking around with their weapons ready, eyes fixed on the surrounding dark and abandoned houses.

They thought they were used to this whole thing by now, but truth was that they were still far from it. They had spent the past year on a farm or in small towns, so they hadn't been able to really see what was going on in the big cities. Especially for Connor it was rather weird and like some twisted deja vu, because the last time he'd been surrounded by large empty downtown buildings and shops had been when he'd been trying to escape Boston.

Sometimes he still thought about old Bean town, what it looked like these days, and if it weren't for the fact that he'd lost his brother back there then maybe he would even admit that he missed the old city. He wondered if it looked like that now. Abandoned, corpses on the ground, cars that were stripped clean, burned out or abandoned, like a ghost town.

When Bob spoke up his voice echoed all the way across the street and surrounding alleys, which made both friends turn around with worried frowns.

"Don't worry. Ain't their territory. Downtown belongs to the nerds. They kinda made a deal and split the city up. At least for a while.   
Wouldn't surprise me if that shit goes t'hell as well" Bob said and then shook his head with a chuckle.

"Still don't exactly think it's a good idea to be walking around in the open like that" Daryl muttered and looked up, because he thought that he'd seen something move behind one of those dark windows. He felt pretty paranoid but didn't care. He didn't exactly fancy another ambush like yesterday.

"Aye" Connor agreed and both men looked at each other, maybe regretting their idea to go with the old man.

He had granted them a bed and saved their asses, that was true, but that still didn't mean that they really trusted him.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch. There's another tunnel right up ahead just waiting for y'all t'complain about other shit."

Connor snorted because the old man's attitude amused him, despite the tension.

"So what _is_ the deal with you and the nerd squad?"

Connor and Daryl exchanged yet another glance, and the hunter shook his head when his friend was about to open his mouth.

"Ain't none of your business, Bob" the hunter answered, which made the old man snort this time.

"How many times do I have t'tell y'all. My name ain't Bob you lil rug muncher."

"Well, ye wouldn't tell us yer name" Connor reminded him and Bob answered him with an angry frown.

"That's cos it ain't none of your goddamn business, sunny."

Connor raised an eyebrow and the put both his hands up in the air to show defeat.

"All right..." he said and smirked to himself, and Daryl got a bit disappointed when his friend wouldn't give him their private knowing smirk this time.  
He was excluded from the conversation.

"Don't get yer panties in a bunch" the Irishman said and then smirked, because he was repeating the words the old man had said just moments before.

There was silence again, until some loud metallic clattering somewhere in an alley in front of them startled all three men at once. Connor drew his Beretta, Daryl his crossbow, but Bob still didn't seem too fazed by walked across the street, slower, trying to stay silent and keep it low, and when they got closer to the corner they could hear it again. The shattering of metal and the rustling of tin foil and paper.   
  
The Irishman was closest to the corner and pressed his back against the wall. He looked at the other two men who were trying to get to the other corner. He nodded and grabbed his Beretta tight, and when he was just about to walk around the corner and point his gun at whatever was there Bob suddenly called out.

"Watch out, sunny!" he yelled and darted forward. Connor didn't even need to turn around, he knew what was waiting for him because he could smell it: the stench of rotten flesh, then he heard it, the dragging of feet, the raspy, dead breathing of an undead person. He turned around but at the same time relaxed, knowing that the walker wouldn't do anything to him anyway. But he was a bit surprised when he turned around and saw how close the walker was, right in front of him, face to face. Connor just stood there and looked the walker right in the eye, not scared, maybe just disgusted by the stench and look of the rotten walking corpse.

"What the..." Bob gasped and the undead turned his head in the direction of the old man with a snarl.

He walked right past Connor and staggered in Bob's direction. Their guide was too puzzled and surprised by what had happened, so Daryl reacted and shot an arrow at the undead's head. The walker's head was thrown to the side because of the impact, and with a final growl he fell to the ground. Connor turned around to check the alley for any more walkers, while Daryl used the time to get his arrow back. When both men finally looked at Bob again they saw that the old man was still in shock. He was staring at Connor with wide eyes, and it took him a pretty long while until he could talk again.

"What the...how is this possible?" he snapped, seemingly angry all of the sudden.

"Were you bit?!" he went on and tried to get to the Irishman, but Daryl stepped between them.

"Hey, relax old man" he said, but Bob ignored him and kept staring at Connor.

The Irishman automatically messaged his shoulder and then put his Beretta away.

"Well there ye have yer reason why we need to get t'this fuckin crew" he muttered and then nudged the walker on the ground to make sure he was really dead.

Bob snorted and fought Daryl's hands off. He kept staring at the both of them in utter disbelief.

"You two ain't telling me you're immune to this shit."

Connor rolled his eyes and started walking, because even now he still hated it and didn't like talking about it.

"Can we please just get te fuck going? Being out here in the open ain't sitting right with me. Where's the tunnel of yers?"

Daryl was still standing right next to Bob, who seemed to be in shock. The hunter figured that the best way to get the old man to move was by following Connor, so he did. The two friends started walking and the younger of the two walked a bit faster so he could be next to the Irishman. Daryl kept turning his head every once in a while, to make sure that Bob was keeping up. Their guide was walking behind them and stared to the ground, while he was manically talking to himself. It weirded the hunter out, so he approached Connor.

"Don't you think we should lose him? The guy lost it" he muttered and both friends turned their heads to look at the old man.

"Months of this shit! And now they gotta turn up. _Now_ they gotta...I'm sorry my boy, oh Dan, I wish you could see 'em if only...ah, fuck!   
Why'd they have to come now...just three months...three _fuckin_ months and I could've..." Bob kept talking to himself.

Connor shrugged and stared straight ahead.

"He knows his way 'round town."

Daryl snorted.

"Yeah, remember last time some crazies learned about your immunity bullshit?"

The Irishman rolled his eyes.

"Aye. I do. And I remember that they outnumbered us big time back then. Now look at us. He's all on his own, and he's an old fella. Nothing we can't handle. He can get us to that group a lot faster, and this way we don't have ta wander about te city without knowing where te fuck we're supposed ta go. What's te matter, I thought ye couldn't wait ta get my ass to this hospital?" Connor answered and sounded pissed and maybe a bit bitter, which made Daryl tense.

"Look, I know I said some pretty.." he answered but got interrupted when Bob suddenly called out.

"Stop" the old man demanded and both friends turned around.

"This is us" Bob said and pointed at another alley.

He disappeared around the corner and Connor and Daryl followed him, their conversation completely forgotten.  
When they entered the alley both friends stopped walking in surprise, because they could see their guide on the ground, hovering above a gully.

"No fuckin way" Connor said as he watched Bob getting rid of the cover.

The old man started climbing down and then looked at Connor with a raised eyebrow.

"You really are a fuckin pansy, aren'tcha? This'll get yah right past the guards and into the parking garage of their building."

"No fuckin way. I'd rather fucking walk" Connor repeated and frowned angrily, because there was no fucking way he was going to through a sewer system that hadn't been cleared and cleaned in ages. He'd seen it in the movies all the time. He wasn't a diva, and there were many things he didn't give a fuck about, and it wasn't like he minded getting his hands dirty, but even he drew a fucking line somewhere.

Daryl threw his crossbow over his shoulder and headed for the gully as well, which made his friend protest even more.

"Eh, come on! There's gotta be another way for Christ's fucking sakes!"

Daryl, who was half way down, raised his head and looked at the Irishman with a raised eyebrow.

"Don't be a sissy about it. You scared of the dark or something, you pussy?"

Connor snorted.

"No, but I know enough about fuckin hygiene and shit to know that sewers are a bad fuckin idea. I mean haven't ye been to the movies? Whenever people enter fuckin sewers shit just goes haywire and I'd rather shoot a couple 'a soldiers than...hey!" he called out, because Daryl just rolled his eyes and climbed down so they wouldn't lose Bob. Connor was now standing all alone in the alley and kept staring at the hole in disbelief. He turned around and scratched his eyebrow. There was no one there, he was all alone in a dark alley in a fucking ghost town, but for a moment he still actually considered going on his own.

"Leprechaun!" he could hear the echo of Daryl's voice and then looked back at the gully, only to let out an angry groan.

"Jesus fuckin..." he muttered and then followed the other two with an annoyed headshake.

He landed inside the muddy and stinking water with a loud _splash_! and let out a disgusted groan. He was now facing everything he'd pictured. Dark, dirty water. Rotten feces. Trash. Toilet paper, and the smell, _oh the fucking smell._ He wanted to throw up. Connor pulled a face and grabbed his shirt so he could drag it up and use it to cover his mouth and nose, but that still wasn't enough.   
  
He waded through the water that reached all the way up to his hip and then made his way over to the side-walk, where Daryl and Bob were waiting for him. Connor kept his arms up as high as possible so he wouldn't get his hands dirty, but when he looked down on himself he wrinkled his nose yet again, because he could see how the dirty water was drenching his jeans and now shirt.

He was so going to burn that shit, and he so didn't care if he had to run around naked because of that. There was no fucking way he would smell that any second longer as soon as they got out of here, although it almost felt like his skin sucked up all the smell and buried it deep inside his every cell. He climbed out of the water and then got up, only to give both Daryl and Bob an angry stare.

 _Happy?_ it said, then Daryl moved closer to him and wrinkled his nose.

"You stink like hell" he noticed and Connor gave him his best bitch face.

"Hardy fucking har" the Irishman answered and walked past his friend, so he could shove his shoulder against his chest on purpose.

Daryl stumbled a bit, but couldn't fight the amused chuckle that escaped his mouth.

"Fuck you" Connor answered and followed Bob, who had started walking and was now leading them through the maze that was the sewer system.

It only took Connor a couple of minutes until he got even more pissed, because rats suddenly came running right at them, stumbling over their shoes and making the Irishman kick and groan in disgust.

"Jesus fuckin Christ" he exclaimed and pulled his Beretta to aim it at one of the animals, simply because he was so fed up with everything right now. He hit it but regretted pulling the trigger, because the shot echoed through the small tunnel, ringing in their ears and startling Bob.

"Have you lost your goddamn mind?!" the old man snapped and shoved Connor, who stumbled back and nearly caused Daryl to fall into the water.

Connor caught his balance and then pointed at the rat he'd shot.

"Just look at that shit! 's the size of a fuckin pony that is!" he tried to justify his behavior, but that didn't seem to make Bob any more understanding.

The old man shook his head and turned around to keep walking.

"Jeez, can't wait to get rid of you two _idiots_!"

"Yeah, same fuckin here" Connor muttered and followed Bob again.

They didn't speak for a long time after that. Daryl, who was walking right behind Connor, staring at his friend's back from time to time, thinking about how he should probably apologize just to make the Irishman less bitchy, but for some reason he couldn't get himself to do it. There were too many awkward topics connected with that day, stuff that Bob didn't need to hear about. No one needed to know about. So they all kept walking, until it was the old man who broke the silence.

"How long since you got bit, boy?" he asked and Connor looked up, knowing that Bob was talking to him.

It took him a while to answer, because the memories were still painful and horrifying, but he figured that the dude deserved to know, especially since he was the one saving them and getting them through Augusta to keep them from getting killed.

"First time was 'bout eight or nine months ago."

Bob turned his head to look at the Irishman with a frown.

"First time?"

Connor nodded.

"Aye. Second time was 'bout a month ago. Long story, and I ain't gonna fuckin talk about it."

Bob snorted.

"Lucky you" he muttered and shook his head.

"Couldn't've gotten your ass here three months ago, could you?"

Connor frowned.

"And why's that?"

"Long story. And I ain't gonna fuckin talk about it" Bob repeated and the Irishman chuckled, because he liked their back and forth.

The old man sighed.

"First time they talked about the other kid I didn't believe it because it is so damn ridiculous" he said and looked at Connor again.

"Even now 'm havin a hard time believin it" he went on, which made Daryl snort.

"Yeah, we've seen that" he remarked, but both Connor and Bob ignored him.   
So he kept talking, because being ignored made him angry.

"You know anything about the other kid?" he asked and looked to their right, because he thought he'd heard something

Bob shrugged.

"Don't know much. I was already out of there when he got there. Got ambushed just like you, couldn't _not_ hear it. It was a damn mess back at some shopping center where they used to get their supplies. Think he came all the way down here , he was from somewhere up North? Heard the broadcast, got here..and ran away again."

Connor frowned because once again he didn't like hearing that he wasn't the only 'special' one.

"How old was he then?"

"Stuff I heard, just 'bout your age? Hell, I don't know nothing about that. Just like I said, didn't even believe it.   
I thought it was another one of them stories just t'get more people here to recruit more soldiers to keep up their shitty defences."

"Well, guess that worked pretty well then didn't it?" Daryl muttered and Connor snorted, although he didn't want to.

All three men froze when they heard the sudden and loud sound of something moving in the water. Not just something, _many_ things. Then they heard the echo, the groaning and moaning, coming from somewhere to their right. It was coming closer and closer, the splashing and splashing, like fish that were fidgeting on the water surface. Connor, Daryl and Bob looked at each other with wide eyes.

"Oh shit" Connor gasped, and Daryl hit his shoulder angrily.

"Because of your fuckin gunshot, you asshole!"

"Oh fuck you, it came right fuckin at me!" Connor protested as he turned around and shoved Daryl back.

"I don't exactly want to interrupt your goddamn sandbox brawl, but I think we should get a fuckin move on!" Bob whisper-shouted at the two friends and hit Connor's shoulder.

The Irishman turned around to snap at the old man then, but a loud growl and maybe even scream startled them once more. They looked to their right where another tunnel branched off from the one they were in, and then they could see them, countless undead, some of them with swollen limbs and faces that were full of water, who were staggering in their direction, all pressed together in the small tunnel like a tidal wave.

"Oh shit!" Connor yelled once again, and although he knew that the undead probably wouldn't attack him or his friend, he still didn't fancy getting surrounded and crushed to death by a herd of walkers in such a tight area.

"Move!" Daryl roared and then all three men started running at once.

"How far is it?" Connor yelled and jumped to the other side of the canal, since Bob wasn't moving fast enough for his liking.

"Ain't too far now! Just eight more turnings!"

"' _Just_ ' eight?" Connor exclaimed in disbelief and turned around to see where the walkers were.

He was even more surprised when he noticed that for some reason, although they were running, the undead were still pretty much right behind them.

"Listen, sunny!" Bob suddenly yelled, which made Connor turn his head so he could look at the old man.

"You listen carefully now...!" the old man went on and was already out of breath from the running.

"I'm gonna lead 'em away from y'all, and you get your ass to that lil crew and find a goddamn cure!"

"Te fuck I'm doing!" Connor yelled back, because there was no way he was leaving an old man behind.

"We can't have 'em pile up in those guys' freakin cellar! Just...think about it!" Bob said and started coughing.

It sounded like he could hardly breathe from all the running, and he was running more slowly which each second that passed.

"Come on, get a move on!" Daryl roared and tried to shove the old man forward to get him to run faster.

Bob staggered and kept going, but it was obvious that he didn't stand a chance on a straight track like that.

"I know my way around here, I can lead 'em away but you gotta listen!"

"Then fucking talk!" Connor roared and nearly slipped on the wet stone floor.

"Right, right, straight ahead, left, right, right, left, right!" Bob shouted and Connor looked at him with a confused frown.

"What?!"

" Right, right, straight ahead, left, right, right, left, right, are you fuckin deaf?!" Bob repeated and Daryl jumped to the right, so he was right behind Connor.

"I got it!" he yelled and Bob gave them a final nod, only to start yelling and scraping his machete along the wall.

"Come on you filthy bastards!" he roared and made as much noise as possible, until they reached another junction.

"Now, go right!" Bob roared and then suddenly disappeared in a tunnel to their left.

Connor watched him disappear in surprise, until they could only hear the noise he was making, but then Daryl suddenly shoved him to the right, into another tunnel, where he stumbled and fell down.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed and tried to shout after Bob, but then Daryl suddenly pressed his hand to his mouth, grabbed his torch to turn it off, and then dragged him further inside the tunnel, the dark. Now they were just sitting there, Connor's back pressed to Daryl's chest, hand muffling the Irishman's words, both men breathing heavily. They still heard Bob's rattling, shouting and footsteps that echoed through the tunnels but got quieter, then the splashing and groaning got louder, as the undead staggered past their tunnel, and inside the one Bob was using to get away.   
  
Daryl still wouldn't stop pressing his hand to Connor's mouth although the Irishman didn't intend to say anything anyway, and he was slightly annoyed by the fact that he could hardly breathe and how Daryl's hand tasted and smelled like the freaking sewers. It took a while until all the walkers had passed their hideout and staggered after Bill, who they could hardly hear now.

Daryl finally let go of Connor and stopped holding him down.   
The Irishman let out an angry grunt as he got up and sorted his clothes.

"Jesus fuckin Christ" he growled and walked outside the tunnel to check if there were any more walkers.

When he couldn't see any he turned around so he could glare at Daryl. He pointed at the other tunnel and got angry.

"We can't just use te old fucker as bait, man. We could've taken 'em all on. It wouldn't have been a fuckin problem fer te both of us.   
We didn't fuckin need protection from these fucks, _he_ did."

"He don't need any help. He's gonna be just fine" Daryl just said and then turned around to start walking.

Of course Connor wouldn't thank him for probably saving his ass from a herd of walkers.

"We should go after him" Connor said and Daryl shook his head.

"No we ain't. We don't know our way 'round here. He does. We'd just get lost. We didn't come here to save an old man's ass.   
We came here because of that hospital crew. Gettin all of us killed ain't gonna help no one. We gotta focus and stop bein stupid."

Connor snorted and finally followed his friend after wiping his face with an angry sniff.

"Aye. Do remind me one more time how my fuckin immunity is more important than anything or anyone else."

Daryl turned around to look at his friend in surprise. And maybe he was just as angry. Connor stared at him as he reached for his knife.

"I get it" Connor said, looking angry and stressed, then he walked past Daryl without saying another word.

* * *

They reached the exit after walking around the maze of tunnels for what felt like hours. Although both men had agreed on having heard the same directions they soon doubted they were on the right path, because the distance between each junction was sometimes large, sometimes short, and just when they were about to give up and get up some random ladder they finally found it, a heavy steel door that seemed to lead outside and that was at the end of a pretty long tunnel with a concrete floor.   
  
There was no more water here and it looked a bit less filthy so they were pretty sure they were right. They found the door locked so Connor had to shoot it open, and soon they found themselves in some sort of dark boiler room. They could hear that some of the engines were still running, and when they saw that the emergency lights were on they were even more certain that this was the right place.

Electricity. Generators that ran on gas. Gas that people needed to collect and put inside the generators. People, who needed light. Connor and Daryl's previous fight was soon forgotten, because they needed to focus, because they knew that people meant danger. Goodies or not. As soon as someone had a gun on them this could mean trouble, so they grabbed their own weapons and concentrated on every so slight movement. Both men didn't need words to work together, they coordinated and synchronized their movements by giving each other simple nods and gesturing with their hands.

They made their way to the other door, knowing that this had to be their way out, and Connor really hoped that he didn't have to fire another shot. He grabbed the door handle and then looked at Daryl to make sure that he was alright. The hunter was standing right next to the door, back pressed to the wall, crossbow in his right hand with an arrow loaded, ready to shoot. The younger of the two friends nodded and then Connor pulled the door open, only to groan because some bright light blinded him.

"Jesus" he muttered and shielded his eyes.

"FREEZE!" came the order. Before he got the time to adjust to the light or simply shoot his gun he could already feel how someone kicked his knee and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. He was forced on his knees and was left no other choice but to throw his hands in the air. "All right! All right!" he exclaimed and someone grabbed his Beretta from his hand. "Get your hands off him!" he heard Daryl roar and when his eyes finally adjusted to the brightness he could see that he was facing at least ten soldiers, who were pointing their heavy rifles right at him. He could hear what sounded like a fight that was going on right behind him, and then there was the clicking of countless guns.

"I'm immune!" he yelled to keep them from shooting him or his friend.

"I'm immune" he repeated and then looked at the soldiers with wide eyes. He couldn't see their faces because they were all wearing helmets and masks. He could see them clearly now. Full army clothing, heavy rifles, far superior than him with his guns and Daryl with his silly crossbow. He heard how the hunter wouldn't stop cursing as they forced him to his knees right next to him, but Connor kept going. He slowly moved his hands down so he could get to the collar of his shirt.

"I said freeze!" one of the soldiers roared and they got closer to him.

"I just wanna show ye!" Connor yelled and then yanked the collar of his shirt down so they could see the healing wound, the angry flesh, the stitches, the red and burning scar. The soldiers froze and just looked at him, then three of them turned their heads in the direction of the one right in the middle. "Sir.." one of them said and then Connor used the time to turn his left arm around so he could show the other scar, the one that looked like two directly opposed U's.

"I'm immune" he repeated once again.


	13. Questioning

"I'm sorry about the harsh welcome. You know the drill. Standard procedure."

Daryl stared at the woman opposite him, feeling extremely uncomfortable. There were just the two of them in this room, although he knew that soldiers were waiting just outside the door. The room weirded him out, really. It was too clean, too sterile, there was light and it smelled like hospital. It wasn't like your typical hospital, though.  
  
It was a whole lot smaller and looked like some other university building, but the smell was unmistakable. Daryl had a look around the room and shifted in his chair, feeling terribly out of place. Even the woman looked pretty clean with her pigtail and friendly smile. The whole thing made him all too aware of all the things he was: dirty, and smelling like dirty sewers and rotten meat.

 _Great. Of course he had to smell like shit when he was meeting a female stranger._  
Not that he trusted her, or that he wanted or could flirt with her, but still.  
The hunter hissed when the woman buried a needle in the crook of his arm and tried to get away.

"Easy. I don't remember you being so fidgety."

Daryl frowned at that remark, but decided to ignore it just now.  
There were more important things he needed to know.

"Where's Connor? The other guy?" he muttered and looked around the room once more, only to fix his eyes on the door.

The woman leaned in to get a closer look at his face, which made Daryl flinch and then turn away.  
The near freaked him out, and he didn't know why she was doing that.

"I ain't the one you should be checkin out, lady" he muttered, still trying to get away.

The woman chuckled and then pricked his arm again, but this time so she could get some blood samples.

"You and I both know that you are just as important as your friend. Really, you coming back, that's a good choice.  
You're making this a whole lot easier for us" she said and then suddenly grabbed Daryl's shirt to open his buttons.

The hunter really freaked out then and jumped up.

"Hey, get your hands off of me!" he snapped and tried to button his shirt back up in a hurry.

The woman looked at Daryl for a moment, completely in shock, eyes fixed on the hunter's naked shoulder.  
She put her syringe down and got up.

"I'm...I'm sorry. I'll...be right back" she said and fixed her eyes on him again, as she made her way to the door.

Daryl started pacing up and down the room, freaked out by everything, how clean it was, how quiet it was, how wrong and just freaking scary it was. There were no woods to hide in, there were no walkers, they had taken his gun, knife, and crossbow, and he knew that he was surrounded by army men and doctors. And he didn't know where Connor was.  
  
He startled once more when the woman closed the door behind herself. When he realized that he was all alone inside the room he ran for the window. He knew that they were at least five stories above the ground, but maybe there was something...he cursed when he saw that there was nothing below the window. No balcony, no pavement. The building was right by the river, whose waves reached up to the foundation now. There was nothing between the building and the river, whose water line had risen up over the past year.

_Great._

So there was no way to get out of here either. He turned around and glared at the medical instruments, but there was nothing useful here. The woman had taken everything with her. He started walking again, up and down, up and down, like a trapped nervous dog, faster and faster, getting more nervous with each step. He was trapped, and he absolutely hated it.

* * *

"How long since your first infection?"

"About eight or nine months. Lost track of time."

"How long since your second infection?"

"A couple of weeks. Maybe a month."

"How long did it take your body to fight your first infection?"

"A couple of weeks."

"How long did it take your body to fight your second infection?"

Connor rolled his eyes and gave the man an annoyed look. He appreciated their help and interest. Really.  
They had given him some water, a new pair of jeans.. But even with all that the whole questioning thing annoyed the crap out of him.  
Especially when he was all alone with them, and didn't have a effin clue where his friend was.

"Maybe a week. Listen, can't ye figure that shit out yer own? Like with...ow! Aye, exactly, with that kinda shit" he said and winced when the doctor took some blood samples.

The doctor smirked and rubbed the crook of the Irishman's arm with a cotton wool wad.

"You sound just like your friend" he said and Connor snorted as well.

"I bet he's less polite 'bout it. Speaking of which, where te fuck is he?"

The man put the samples on the table and then moved closer to Connor, so he could take a look at his bare shoulder with the healing bite wound.

"He is doing just fine. He should be used to the whole procedure by now. It's standard protocol. We...have to make sure you don't carry any other diseases into our facilities. We didn't have a casualty since February. We're very proud of that and we want it to stay that way, don't we?" he asked and looked at the Irishman for a moment, who stared back at him with a wary frown. The doctor resumed his work and Connor winced visibly because he still hated to be touched there, the pulsating bite wound that seemed to get better, and sometimes worse.

"You two've got some interesting tattoos there. Are you in some sort of clan or something? It's a rather striking piece of work."

Connor rubbed his neck and shook his head.

"Nah, not a clan. Just a buncha tattoos."

 _Ain't none of your goddamn business_ he heard Daryl answer in his head, which made him smirk. He didn't really trust these people either, but ever since the incident back in the parking garage no one had pointed a gun at him or threatened his life again. Quite the opposite. And since those doctor people had always been nice to him and even apologized for the rough welcome he didn't see the point in being overly aggressive and pissy to them.  
  
But even with all that it didn't mean that they needed to know everything about him or his friend. He watched the doctor for a while, how he would check out the wound, sometimes move his fingers over it, sometimes use some weird medical instruments, and soon Connor felt rather awkward, so he kept talking. He turned his head to look out of the window and let out a gentle sigh.

"And you think yer gonna find a cure" he muttered and the doctor nodded.

"We're absolutely positive about it. And now that we got you _both_ over here I think we're going..."

He stopped talking and looked up when the door suddenly opened.  
Connor turned his head with a raised eyebrow to see who was disturbing their conversation.  
A younger woman was standing by the door, and she looked rather excited.

"Professor Smith. I need to talk to you" she said and then looked at Connor.

"Alone."

The man let go of Connor with a sigh and nodded.

"I'm right behind you" he said and then looked at his patient, who looked rather sceptical.

"I've got everything I need for today anyway. You can get dressed. Ramirez is waiting for you outside. He will take you to your room. I'm sure you must be hungry. We'll give you some more food and let you rest for a bit. It's going to be a tough day tomorrow" he explained and then got up. Connor did the same and then grabbed Smith's arm to stop him from walking away.

"Woah, wait. I got a whole buncha questions fer you fella and you can't just..."

Professor Smith moved both his hands up in the air and tried to walk past the Irishman.

"We'll...get back to that as soon as I'm done talking to Elizabeth. Just...take it easy" he said and manage to get past Connor,  
who put his shirt back on in a hurry and walked after the man.

"Hold on though, where'd you put Daryl? I ain't going anywhere without him, I need ta talk to him."

"We'll send him over as soon as we're done talking to him."

"That's a lotta talking ye gotta do before I get my answers, don't ye..." Connor tried to answer, but then Professor Smith slammed the door shut right in front of the Irishman, leaving him all alone inside the room.

* * *

Connor was pacing up and down the small room that looked like it had used to be some sort of office. There was a table, a couch and a whole lot of books in here, and just like all the other rooms he had been in the place looked pretty clean. If you didn't count the fainted bloodstain on the white wall right next to the door. It looked like someone had tried pretty hard to get rid of the blood, but no matter how hard they'd tried, you could still see that someone had been shot right there.

The longer the Irishman had to wait the more paranoid he got. His stressed mind came up with all sorts of things. _What if they had executed someone here? Someone just like him? Intruders, survivors, the other immune kid?_ Everything Bob had told them about this place had become true: he was pretty much trapped in here. As soon as they had shoved him inside here they had locked the room, and even now he could hear the two guards breathing right in front of the door, guarding him like he was the president or something like that.

_You go in there, they ain't lettin you out. It's like prison, but with needles, scalpels and nerds and shit._

He had wanted to come here, and yes, he wanted to find a cure, but for some reason he'd thought that this would be easier. He knew that it was foolish to believe they would treat him like a king and do whatever he wanted, but still. People who were looking for a cure and trying to help mankind had to be good people, right? Except that they didn't seem good. Or maybe they were, whatever they were: everything freaked him out as long as he was all by himself, with Daryl gone, with his brother gone. He didn't like to be alone. He hated that shit because it reminded him too much of this dark past time of his life. He needed someone to talk to, someone to keep him company, someone he could trust.

Connor moved his hand through his messy hair and then kept walking up and down, up and down, faster and faster, until he had enough and just sat down on the couch. He figured that he couldn't do shit about it, especially since they had taken all of his weapons. He did have his duffel bag, but they had searched the whole thing and let him keep only the most useless stuff.

For a moment he just sat there, but apart from the nervousness he was also pretty bored, so he got up again and took a closer look at all the books. He was getting so desperate that he actually considered reading a freaking medical encyclopedia, but right then the door finally opened. Connor put the book back and turned around in surprise, only to let out a relieved sigh when Daryl was shoved inside the room. It looked like it had taken another two soldiers to get him here, because even now the hunter kept complaining and shoving at them.

"Get your fuckin mitts off me!" he snapped at the soldier.

One of them grabbed the door handle and kept the younger Dixon from running back outside.

"Wait here. Don't do anything stupid. Elizabeth'll get you something to eat later. You must stay put and wait for orders."

"How 'bout _I_ give you some goddamn orders, Forrest Gump?" Daryl snapped and tried to go after the soldier, but right then the door was pulled shut.

The hunter kicked the door once with an annoyed growl which made Connor smirk.

"Already tried that. Didn't help much" he said which made Daryl turn around and look at him.

The Irishman came right at him and wrapped an arm around his friend, so he could pat his back and hug him.

"Good t'see yer still in one piece" he said and Daryl was quite surprised by the sudden hug, but he kind of welcomed it after all the mess they had been through today, and he was really glad when he realized that this also meant that Connor was no longer pissed at him because of yesterday. But just like any time he hardly let his friend know that he actually appreciated the hug. Maybe he patted his back once as well, but this was about it.

"Hardly" he grunted and then Connor stopped hugging him so he could take a closer look at him.

"They do anything weird?"

Daryl snorted.

"Nope. I'd like t'see them try."

"They do the same shit? Blood samples? Questioning?" Connor went on and then started grinning.

"Te whole alien abduction probe kinda thing?" he went on and then gently slapped Daryl's right cheek with a chuckle.

"Har har" Daryl muttered and fought his chuckling friend off.

He took a look around their room with an angry frown.  
Just like before he thought that it was too clean, too small, too sterile. Except for the weird blood stain on the wall.

"Home sweet home" Connor said and sat down on the couch, which made Daryl look at him once more.

"What?" he asked and folded his arms with a frown. Connor looked up at him and frowned just as much.

"What'd you mean, 'what'?"

Daryl leaned against the wall next to the door and snorted once more.

"We just gonna let 'em lock us up? Sit ducks and do nothin?"

Connor put his feet on the small coffee table and shrugged.

"It was yer idea ta go here and 'find a cure'."

The younger of the two friends turned his head so he could look outside the window.

"Yeah, except that the place ain't sittin right with me."

Connor let out a gentle chuckle.

"Aye. Cos no fuckin place is sitting right with ye. 's nothing we can do about it anyway. We're seven stories above te ground,  
the door's locked and there's soldiers fuckin everywhere. Relax. It's not te end of the world."

Daryl raised an eyebrow at that, but when he looked at his friend again he noticed that Connor was pointing at the window.

"'m sure they're nice people" the Irishman went on but got up to head for the window.

He crooked a finger at Daryl to let him know that he was supposed to follow.

"I mean they're givin us food and clothes, can't be tha bad, can it?" he said, and maybe a bit louder on purpose, just to make sure that the soldiers outside could hear it.

Both men headed for the window and came to a halt right in front of it. Connor moved closer to Daryl, so they were right next to each other and could start whispering.

"See that window over there?" he muttered and pointed at a window to their right.  
They were facing the right wing of the building.

"'m pretty sure that's te stair case. I got the whole fuckin layout of that part of the building in here" Connor went on and pointed at his head.

Daryl looked at his friend and raised an eyebrow, although he knew that the Irishman really was that smart.

" Also, did ye see the fucking nurses? Been too long since I saw someone so fuckin cute, maybe I can get something going there" Connor said a lot louder, and kept staring at Daryl with that dickish grin all the way through saying this. The whole saying that but looking at him made the hunter narrow his eyes at his friend, which made Connor grin even more.

"Seven floors, we're at te top floor, right wing of the building got te stair case at the far end with three rooms per side down the corridor. Probably offices like this one, not much space fer too many soldiers. And there's a fuckin rain gutter right there."

Daryl and Connor stared at each other for a while. The hunter let out a gentle sigh.

"Yeah, you're right. Can't wait for this Nancy chick to bring us food" he raised his voice, because he wanted the soldiers to hear what he said.

"The rain gutter" he murmured after this and looked down.

They were pretty high up here, and once again he was facing nothing but water at the bottom.  
There was just this building, and the river.

"Don't get yer panties in a bunch. It's just in case we need ta bail out quick. Let's just give this place a fuckin chance first" the older of the two friends whispered and then hit the hunter's back. He walked away from the window and got back on the couch to leaf through an old magazine.

Daryl looked out of the window for a bit longer and then finally turned around.  
He leaned against the window sill, folded his arms and eyed Connor head to toe.

"So what'd they do exactly? They tell you anything? What they plan to do with your immunity weirdo stuff?"

Connor shook his head and looked up again.

"Not a damn thing. I tried ta get anything out of this guy, but he wouldn't spill. He just did the usual stuff,  
take blood, ask too many fucking questions and put his fucking mitts all over me.  
All he said was that 'it's gonna be a tough day tomorrow'. Whatever te fuck he meant by that."

Daryl just looked at his friend, discomfort visibly showing.

"I don't like it" he muttered and looked out of the window again.

"Maybe we shouldn't have come here."

"They tell you anything?" Connor interrupted his little monologue and Daryl rubbed his dirty face as he shook his head.

"Nah. They did the same shit. Take blood, ask stupid questions.  
No matter how many times I kept tellin them that I ain't the one they should be checkin out.  
That nurse girl was pretty weird about it" he said and Connor frowned.

"What'd you mean 'weird"?"

Daryl just looked at the blonde for a while, unsure what to say. He'd had some time after the nurse had left the room, time to think about everything he'd heard and seen ever since they got here. Everyone was acting weird around him, like they already knew him, although that was absolutely impossible. He remembered all the things this nurse had told him, all the things Bob had said.

 _You_ know _the drill._

_I don't remember you being so fidgety._

_You and I both know that you are just as important as your friend. Really, you coming_ back _, that's a good choice._

The look on her face when she saw that his shoulder was clean.

_Think he came all the way down here , he was from somewhere up North?_

It was absolutely ridiculous and impossible and he knew that. But he couldn't stop thinking about it ever since they had set foot inside this building, hell, even this city. The only logical explanation why all these people seemed to know him had to be the fact that they recognized his _face_. He knew only one person who kind of looked like him. He'd seen the picture multiple times after all. And it fit, really. Immunity. Bite wound on his shoulder. Coming from all the way up north. Boston. Similar blood. His face. The only person who fit this description had to be Connor's brother. Murphy.

But this was absolutely impossible. Everything about it was impossible. The fact that someone else could be immune, that someone else could survive a bite wound and have _his_ face. There couldn't be three people who shared the same face, right? That was absolutely stupid. But what was even more impossible: Connor's brother couldn't have possibly survived a headshot wound, be immune and make his way down to the very same fucking state as Connor. America was freaking huge. Even if this Murphy guy was still alive, they couldn't possibly travel to the same city.

Maybe he was just freaking out. He tried to keep telling himself that.  
Maybe this was just a reaction to what happened last night, when Connor had said the guy's name.  
Murphy -was- a threat to him, so he wasn't exactly surprised that he was freaking out because of all that.  
Maybe it was a coincidence. It had to be.

_But what if it wasn't? What if it was all true?_

He looked at Connor, and it really looked like the guy didn't have a clue. He hadn't been there when the nurse had said all those things, and he was pretty sure his friend would've freaked out by now and told him everything about it if he suspected the same thing. But Connor didn't look like it, he was back to his usual cocky and yet smart and patient self.

And Daryl suddenly realized that he was now facing a two way situation. He had started this conversation, aimed for this very topic. He could tell Connor about his suspicion. Freak him out, and it didn't matter if it was true or not. He knew that his friend would be a complete mess, that he would raise his hopes, and he just knew that Connor would search every inch of the entire state of Georgia just to find his brother again.  
  
Then there was the other option: he could remain silent. He could lie. And he hated to admit it: but he sympathized with this option. The reason for that was simple: he didn't want to lose Connor. He wanted to keep him all to himself, he didn't want to share or be the third wheel. -He- wanted to be the most important person in the guys life, although he knew that the only reason why he was that was because Murphy wasn't there anymore.

Daryl knew that it was selfish. Even mean. But there was no way he'd gone through this shit, saving Connor from killing himself, becoming his friend, getting him out of his depression, that he'd done all that for absolutely nothing. He deserved this privilege. He deserved to stay and be a part of this man's life. And no ghost or not-so-dead guy was going to take that away from him. He shook his head and then turned it away, just so he didn't have to face Connor. He knew his friend was very sharp, that he could read people like a children's book, so he looked out of the window to hide the fact that he was lying.

"Don't mean nothing by it. The whole place is just weird. I don't trust doctors and soldiers after what happened back at the CDC."

He could feel how Connor's eyes were piercing his back, but he was relieved when his friend seemed to leave the topic be.

"Aye, right. The doctor fella who nearly blew you guys up."

Daryl nodded and then headed for the bookshelf, so he could keep his back turned on Connor.

"Let's hope they don't do the same shit to us."

They kept each other company in silence for about half an hour, then the door opened again. The nurse, Elizabeth who had taken care of Daryl earlier, entered the room with food and apologized that they weren't allowed to eat with the others. They couldn't really say much to that, because right then two soldiers entered their room once more. They looked typically military and sure had their fair share of battle scars by now. The soldier to Elizabeth's right had a large and ugly scar across his right cheek, like he'd been cut or received a grazing shot a while back. The other soldier to her left looked especially unfriendly because he was tall, buff, with short extremely short hair, the rifle to his chest, and a general mean  _asshole_ look on his face. He was also the one who fixed his piercing eyes on Daryl.

"Professor Smith wants you to get cleaned up before he does any further examinations. We'll start with you."

Before Daryl got the chance to say anything to that Connor suddenly snorted.

"Aye. Ye better start with 'im. 's gonna take ages t'get all tha dirt off him" he said and got up to walk over to his friend, who was heading for the door with an angry frown.

"Don't drop te soap and watch yer ass, Darylena" Connor said and slapped his friend's behind.

Daryl already wanted to complain and prepared himself to yell at his friend, but right then he noticed why Connor was really doing it. The Irishman used the touch to put something in the hunter's back pocket. He automatically touched the pocket himself and felt something long and slim inside. It didn't take long and he understood what it was: a pocket knife. He didn't have a clue how Connor had managed to smuggle it inside, but right now he was pretty glad that he had it with him. Daryl looked at his friend in surprise. Connor just gave him that certain knowing smirk and then patted his shoulder.

"Go on then. I'm gonna eat all yer food in the meantime" he said and sounded all cheery and relaxed, although Daryl could see that Connor was far from it.

He hated to be separated from him just as much. He knew what the look on his face meant.

_Be careful._

"Do that and I'm gonna shoot your ass" Daryl answered, although there was an entirely different silent conversation going on between them.

 _You, too_ , the look on his face said, and then he followed the soldiers outside, leaving Connor all alone once again.


	14. Wrong Way

"These are your new clothes. Put them on after your shower. We're gonna dispose of your old stuff in the mean time" the buff, shorthaired meanlooking soldier said and shoved a pile of clothes to Daryl's chest. The hunter grunted and looked at the simple black shirt and the old pair of jeans. When he raised his head again he could see that the soldier was still standing there, right in front of him, eyes fixed on the hunter and waiting.

"I ain't gonna do shit til you move your ass outta here."

"Sorry, can't do. I got my orders. We gotta keep our eyes on you. 24/7."

Daryl raised an eyebrow at this.

"Why, cos you lost the other little weirdo before all this?" he asked and stared at the soldier, hoping to get some answers,  
but the other man wouldn't say anything to that.

"Guy looked like me, didn't he?" he asked and then looked at the other soldier with the scar on his cheek.

"'s why all y'all think you know me."

Once again: no answer. No one to confirm his suspicion.  
Daryl let out a frustrated sigh and looked up at the man in front of him once more.

"If yah want me t'get the muck off, better get going, sunshine" he snarled and moved closer to the man, up to his personal space so he could get the point across.

The soldier smirked and shook his head, not feeling intimidated at all.

"Just like I said. Can't do, _sunshine_ "

Daryl cocked an eyebrow at this.

"Listen. I get that this ain't about orders, and maybe yah get off watchin other guys or some crap like that. But I ain't into this gay shit"

The soldier snorted.

"Yeah, I bet."

"Watcha prattlin about, jackass?" Daryl snarled and moved even closer to the man.

He tried to act all aggressive and manly, simply because Merle had raised him like that.  
And he was pissed because of that remark, that was true, but he couldn't help but feel embarrassed because he knew what the soldier was implying.

"I said.." the soldier answered and moved closer as well, but before they could get into a fight scar-soldier suddenly moved up to them and placed a hand on the man's shoulder.

"Just leave it be, Neil. What's he gonna do anyway. Drown himself? Look, there ain't no windows, no doors. Just leave the fucker be.  
They came here after all. He ain't gonna run."

"Yeah, better listen to your friend" Daryl joined in and the soldier glared at him for a bit longer, only to let out a frustrated sigh.

Both guards turned around and headed for the door.

"Cocky son of a bitch" the man Daryl had threatened said and the other soldier placed a hand on his back once more to pat it.

"Let the guy talk, man"

Daryl watched the men leave and waited a bit longer to make sure they were gone. There were many reasons why he wanted them to be gone. The most important reason was that he didn't want them to see his scars, hell, he didn't want anyone to see him naked in general. The other reason was in the back pocket of his jeans. He searched it and looked at the door once more, only to grab the pocket knife and look at it. He snorted when he saw the clover on it.

 _Fuckin cliché. Stupid leprechaun_ , he thought and then put it in his new pair of jeans, which he obviously didn't like at all. He considered hiding his old clothes but knew it was useless. They were going to find them and throw them away anyway. And what made the whole thing even more pathetic was the fact that they had given him a real shirt. No buttons. And stupid sleeves.

This was going to be fun.

He got rid of his black shirt and looked at the stitches on his chest and rubbed them. They still made him feel uncomfortable and he hated them, but all the different doctors had done a pretty decent job with the whole thing. The wound was healing and didn't hurt so much anymore. Daryl got rid of the rest of his clothes and then stepped under one of the many showerheads, only to let out a surprised gasp when hot water hit his face. He wasn't used to hot running water anymore, and it took him some time to get used to it.

But once he did he actually welcomed it, and moved around a bit, to let the water run down his exposed neck. He could see the brownish water run down the drain and was a bit surprised. He knew that he was dirty all the time, but that he was _so_ coated with dirt. Maybe it was a bit embarrassing. Maybe it made him look like a brainless hick, but he honestly didn't care.

He saw the soap but then shook his head with an angry growl, because now this was just retarded. He liked being dirty, without all that stuff to cover up his scars and face he just didn't feel right. He felt vulnerable and just plain naked, despite the fact that he obviously _was_ naked. He prayed to god that those soldier dumbasses wouldn't come in here, or even worse, bring Connor in here as well. But he was torn right there. He hated to be separated from his friend, especially when he didn't know the people around them, or what they planned to do with him. He wanted Connor to be here simply so he could keep an eye on him, but he also didn't want him to be here for obvious reasons.

Now that he was all alone and the constant rhythm of water raining down on him could be heard it made him get lost in thoughts once again. He still couldn't stop thinking about his suspicion. It was -obvious- that this whole facility was keeping something from them, from him. They were acting way too weird around him, and the fact that they wouldn't answer his questions regarding this other immune stranger told him enough.

He needed to find out more about what had happened here, although he was unsure what he was supposed to do with the information as soon as he got it. _What if he really discovered that it was all true? Could he really keep all that shit from Connor and be selfish about it?_ They had reached a point in their relationship where honesty and trust really mattered. They had built it up to all that. You -needed- to trust your friends these days and you needed to -earn- this sort of trust these days. Otherwise it would just get someone killed.

And he knew that.

Daryl let the water run but stepped outside the spray with an annoyed sigh and decided to leave it be. He wanted to annoy this team, use up all their hot water so they had to take cold showers later. No one made him take showers without paying for that. _Ha, take that, asshole_ he thought to himself but soon his mind drifted again and he started thinking about the whole Connor-Murphy business once more. The whole thing was getting ridiculous, really. Ever since those two women had ambushed them he was acting like a crazy psycho. He was too possessive of Connor, had always been, and Merle's death and the two bites had just made it worse and worse.

 _He needed to calm the fuck down_ , he kept telling himself and rubbed his torso dry with a towel. He was Daryl Dixon. The guy who had been perfectly fine on his own back in Atlanta. He didn't need anyone. Even if the whole Murphy thing was true. He would let the two leprechauns leave and so be it. The whole thing was just temporary anyway. He had never asked for this sort of friendship after all.

_He was doing just fine on his own._

Daryl put on the clothes he'd been given and made sure that Connor's pocket knife was safely packed inside one of the small pockets of his jeans.  
He then got rid of the condensed water on one of the mirrors, only to look at his reflection with an angry frown.

He looked absolutely ridiculous like that.

Hair plastered to his head and dripping wet. Simple black shirt with sleeves that made him feel uncomfortable and hot. He wanted to rip them off but couldn't. And what made him feel even more awkward was his clean face. With all the dirt gone he didn't really look all tan anymore. The crusts of dirt had kept the sun from burning his skin too much, now he even looked a lot paler, especially with that hair that seemed to get darker and darker with every month that passed.

He looked ridiculous, a whole lot younger, and a whole lot less tough. Dirt meant you knew your way around the woods. Dirt mean you knew how to keep yourself alive and hunt and not be afraid of anything, dirty, injuries, anything dangerous. Being clean and tidy meant that you were one of the city guys. Living inside buildings, never being close to a tree or animals. Clean meant that you were vain, that looks were more important that survival and utility. Clean meant that you were vulnerable and weak, a sissy and diva, like Merle had loved to call it all the time.

 _Look atcha, sweet lil Darylena. All clean and lean. How 'bout some powder? Huh, some rouge, some lipstick? High heels and a purse?_  
Merle kept mocking him in his head.

He scowled because he didn't feel like himself anymore.

Connor was right. It had been his idea to get over here. He'd just not expected to get involved with the whole thing.  
It was supposed to be about his friend, no one was supposed to care about him, what he looked like or did.

He absolutely hated it.

Daryl grabbed his dirty clothes from the floor and clung to them like they were his armour.  
Now this was all he had left to protect himself, to keep something of the himself and the outside world.  
He headed for the door and still let the water keep running.  
The other guys would have to get their asses back in here and turn it off themselves.

He knew it was childish but didn't care.

When he got closer to the exit he suddenly heard the two soldiers talk.  
It sounded like they were oblivious to the fact that he was done and standing right on the other side of the door.

"Jesus, how long does it take one fucking guy to take a shower" the soldier with the deeper voice said, the buff guy Daryl had annoyed just moments before.

"Relax. You saw how dirty the dude was. Don't surprise me it takes so long."

The man with the deeper voice, and who had looked like he was the older of the two, snorted.

"Fuckin redneck" he muttered and Daryl gritted his teeth at that remark.

Oh what he'd give to bash this fucker's teeth in.

"So he really ain't our guy, is he?" the younger of the two soldiers asked and Daryl moved closer to the door, now alert and interested in their conversation.

"Shhh, you know the orders, Mitch. Keep your fuckin voice down" buff guy said and there was silence for a moment. Daryl held his breath and froze just to make sure they wouldn't notice he was right behind them. He was glad that the shower was still running. Now it wasn't just to annoy them, it was also pretty damn useful.

"You know what Smith said. If these guys catch wind of the whole thing we'll get the same freakin hospital incident all over again. You already heard the fucker bug everyone with it. It's a damn miracle no one's fucked this up before Liza got the chance to spill the beans about the whole thing. We're supposed to keep quiet about it."

Daryl tried to get even closer to the door, because the two men had really lowered their voices by now, making it almost impossible for him to hear them. He managed to press his ear against the cold surface of the door, and tried to breath as quietly and shallow as possible.

"Yeah, I know. But.. d'you really think it's him? The twin brother the kid kept talkin about? The one who shot 'im and left the poor fucker to die?"

"Of course it's him. Just look at the guy. They got the same fuckin face. Ain't no miracle. It's what makes twins twins, dumbass. They share the same face."

Daryl paled when he heard that.

_This couldn't be true. This couldn't..._

He clenched his hands to tight fists and clenched his teeth so hard he feared that they could break.

"But why's the other guy have all the tattoos? The weird...neck thing and everything. I mean, yeah, I get it.  
It's gotta be the guy but...it's just.. kinda weird."

The other soldier let out a deep annoyed sigh.

"Whoever's who. I don't give two shits about what they are and what they ain't. What I care about though, is that these guys carry the stuff inside them that we've been looking for ever since this whole outbreak started, and we're so damn close to really finding something this time. That is, if you don't fuck this up for us and they hop the fence again. Now shut. Up" he hissed and the other man chuckled.

There was some more chatting after that, but Daryl was too fed up with the whole talk.  
He walked back to the shower to turn it off, to let them know that he was 'finished' with his shower.  
He didn't want them to keep talking, he wanted them to shut up, to not say one single word more.

 _Because this couldn't be true._  
_It had to be a freaking_ joke _._

He looked up at the ceiling and noticed the hot steam from the shower.

This had to be the answer. Air vents. They had to be pumping gas through the vents. Gas, that made him hallucinate.  
Come up with everything he'd just heard. There was no confirmation that his suspicion was true.  
They were talking about someone else. They had to be. Murphy MacManus was _dead_ , not alive.

He didn't get the chance to ponder on that, because right then the door to the shower room opened.

"You done? It's about time!" the older of the two soldiers snapped, and Daryl grabbed his old clothes tighter.

"Yeah. I'm done" he managed to answer through gritted teeth, then threw his clothes at the man, trying to hit his face on purpose.

"Good, Professor Smith wants to see you."

* * *

"All right, it's your turn" the soldier said as he slammed the door open.

Connor looked up from his book and gave the man a frown, obviously not liking the fact that someone disturbed his reading session.

"Come on, get up" the soldier said and Connor let out a gentle sigh. He put the book away and got up.

"All right. If ye want me ta drop my panties fer ye you should be a little more polite about it, don't ye think?" the Irishman muttered and headed for the door, knowing that it would be useless to make a scene and fight when Daryl was nowhere in sight and locked up with probably more of those guys.

"Where'd ye put my girlfriend?" he asked as he stepped through the door and followed the soldiers down the corridors.

When neither would answer would answer he let out a gentle snort.

"Yer quite the chatty ones, aren't ye? Jeez, calm down and let people speak fer once..." he tried to lighten the mood, and grinned when he saw that he had made the younger looking soldier smirk with his remark The ugly scar on his cheek moved up with the tension of the smile.

Connor didn't get to tease the other soldier more, because he noticed a little kid down the corridor,  
with the professor he'd talked to earlier kneeling right in front of him.

"But...you promised" the little blonde haired boy said and looked at the man, who looked rather angry.

"Ethan, we've talked about this. Daddy's busy tonight, and we can't...:"

"Well, he looks upset" Connor interrupted their talk and smiled at the kid, suddenly feeling a whole lot more comfortable about this place.

Kids were a good sign. Bad guys usually didn't keep kids around, especially when rations were scarce and everything was more than dangerous.

The little boy looked up at Connor, with an angry frown and a scowl on his face.  
His father, professor Smith, looked rather surprised by the encounter, because he jumped up and tried to shove his soon away.

"I'm sorry, it's just all about hustle and bustle today. We didn't expect anyone to..."

"You promised we'd be watching movies tonight!" the little boy interrupted both men and Connor looked at him once more, eyes suddenly gleaming with both anticipation and disbelief.

"Movies? What kinda movies, little fella?" he asked and then looked at Professor Smith again.

"If ye don't mind my asking" he apologized, not wanting to creep anyone out.

"Ninja Turtles!" the little boy croaked and started pulling on his father's leg.

"You promised, Dad! Come on!" he kept begging, obviously annoying his father, who rolled his eyes and tried to get into a proper conversation. But much to his discomfort Connor didn't seem too interested in that part of the conversation either. As soon as he'd heard the word 'movies' he was all eyes and ears for what the kid had to say instead.

"Ninja Turtles, that's kinda cool, actually. Who's yer favourite?" he asked the kid, ignoring the other adults who wanted to make him move.

The boy didn't seem so upset and angry anymore, he seemed to appreciate the fact that someone paid some attention to him and shared his love for movie nights.

"Don!"

Connor raised an eyebrow at that.

"Really? Mine's Leonardo. He gets shi..well he gets stuff done, don't he?" the Irishman said, trying his hardest not to swear in front of a kid, especially when his father was around.

"Yeah, but that's cos everyone loves Leonardo. It's kinda easy because he's their boss.  
Everybody loves the bosses, but I like Don, cos he's a lot like Daddy" the little boy explained and pulled his father's leg again.

"Eth" Professor Smith said and got rid of his glasses to rub his eyes, obviously feeling rather stressed and annoyed by everything that was happening. Connor picked up on that, and figured that this was his chance to play a couple of good cards on them, to make them like him more so it would be easier for him to get out of here, should shit hit the fan. He knew it was kind of twisted and malicious, but didn't care. He'd always been very cunning in that regard, especially because of his charm, which he knew how to use on other people on a daily basis.

"Well, maybe we got a little more time fer that later, after yer Da's done with me and my friend, aye" he said, and maybe he also did it to get the chance to watch the freaking movie with the kid. He didn't care what they were watching. Hell, he'd even enter the room and watch some stupid chick flick with the nurses. He just wanted to watch a movie, because if there was one thing he missed the most about their old world it had to be movies and television. He'd do anything in fact, just to join another movie night, like the ones he used to have with Murphy back in the old days.

He started walking on his own to let the others know that he was willing to cooperate. The two soldiers followed him right away to guide him to the shower rooms, and Connor wasn't too surprised when Professor Smith followed them soon after that.

"I apologize for my son's behavior. He shouldn't even be here. Veronica was supposed to..." he started talking and Connor just snorted.

"Relax. He's not te first kid've talked to. 'm actually surprised yer keeping kids here."

Professor Smith sighed and waved at the soldiers to let them know that it was okay for them to fall behind to give them some privacy.

"Yeah, well. Where am I supposed to keep him otherwise? We've got food here, clothes, electricity and 24 hour protection.  
It's all I've got to save the kid from the outside world."

Connor smirked at that and then eyed the professor head to toe.

"And yer doing that with a bo staff?"

The professor chuckled and shook his head

"No, it's just...he likes to watch all this stuff. And when we got the time and the resources, then we host movie nights for the kids."

Connor raised an eyebrow in surprise and looked at the man once more.

"Kid- _s-_?" he repeated and the Professor nodded.

"Yes. We've got three kids here. One soldier and a nurse brought their children with them when everything went South."

Connor nodded and had another look around. Although the soldiers did freak him out and he didn't like the way they had welcomed them and now guarded them, he still liked the place a bit more. Because they were more like their group this way. Kids were good. Kids meant that their protectors had a heart, that they were human and cared about others.

"Aye. They shouldn't be out there. That's good. Real good, actually."

Smith sighed.

"To some extent. But still. Everyone has lost someone here. And the movie nights and birthday celebrations,  
that's just our way to hide the obvious. To keep everyone going."

Connor nodded slowly, because he could relate to that. Even with his cheery attitude and jokes and teasing he still had days where he felt terrible about Murphy's death, and if he was honest then he had to admit that his whole attitude and behavior was just the same act to hide the obvious - that he was hurt, lonely and upset.

"But maybe we can change that attitude now. With you" the professor said and then smiled at Connor.

"I'm done with your blood samples. I'm going to talk to your..." he suddenly paused and looked at the Irishman,  
which made the latter confused at first, but then he chuckled.

"Friend. He's just..a frienda mine."

"Right. As soon as I'm done talking to your friend and you're done cleaning yourself up we're gonna talk. Because there's _a lot_ to talk about."

* * *

Daryl sat in the chair, moving about and using his fingers to drum on the surface of the table in front of him. Once again he was all alone in here, waiting impatiently, with these two soldier pricks right in front of the door, keeping him from storming out of here, keeping him from reuniting with Connor.

He was still clean, all the dirt was gone and for some reason it made him feel like he was freezing because of that, although that was completely stupid and he knew it. He didn't know what he hated more: the lack of woods and his own smell and dirt, or the fact that someone kept him waiting, in unknown, potentially dangerous territory.

The hunter already wanted to yell "Finally!" when the door opened, but refrained from doing so. He just greeted the man he didn't know yet with an angry glare. The guy obviously looked like some doctor or professor, and when he tried to offer him a hand so they could shake hands Daryl just kept staring at him, not moving at all. The man withdrew with a confused and awkward frown and then walked over to the other side of the table, so he could sit down and put his papers on it.

"Well, you must be Daryl then" he greeted the hunter, who just kept staring at the man and still wouldn't react.

"I'm..Professor Smith, but you can call me Daniel if you want.."

Silence.

"I already had the pleasure of meeting your friend, Connor."

"Where is he" Daryl finally answered, eyes fixed on the man, which obviously seemed to freak the other out a bit.

"He's getting cleaned up, like you did, the way I see it"

Daryl raised an eyebrow at that, but the Professor kept talking, preventing him from saying something to that remark.

"So, I examined your blood samples, the ones Elizabeth took..."

"..without asking for my permission" Daryl added and shifted slightly, to hide the fact that he was getting more and more uncomfortable with the whole situation. He felt like some naughty kid that had been called to the headmaster's office at school. Not that he really knew what that was like, considering that he'd hardly ever been in school, but still.

"...and I discovered some pretty interesting things. It looks like I need a couple of answers to make things a bit more clear" Smith went on and Daryl shifted once more, so he could fold his arms and place them on the table.

"Look... _Daniel_ " he said and stressed the man's name in a way that made the other feel even more intimated.

"Let me make some things _clear_ first" he went on and kept staring at the professor, who swallowed and kept looking at the door from time to time, obviously contemplating calling a few soldiers inside. "First of all: I ain't the important one here. The leprechaun is" he said and there was silence for a while, because it suddenly struck Daryl, the incredible opportunity he got right here. They were both curious and wanted to get answers, so maybe this was his chance to get some more information.

"And I'll cooperate and give you your damn answers.."

Smith nodded approvingly at this.

"If you give me some" Daryl went on and Smith froze.

Both men looked each other in the eye for a while, until the professor looked at his papers and then nodded once more with a gentle sigh.

"Okay, if that's what you want. That's fair, I guess" he said and then looked at Daryl once more. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"We do not want to harm you, you know" he said and Daryl folded his arms with a stubborn frown that said ' _yeah I bet_ ' and looked away.

"Or your friend. We're here to save people. Cure them. Restore the old order" Smith went on and Daryl looked at him again.

He still looked rather stubborn and skeptical, but decided to play along.

"Then shoot."

The professor nodded and grabbed a ballpoint pen.

"Your blood samples show me that you got infected with the bacteria of an infected individual, and yet the unknown pathogen that everyone carries inside their brains seems to be unaffected or changed. How is that, have you come in direct contact with an infected?"

"No. Why did that other immune kid run away from here if you don't wanna hurt anyone and pretend t'be the ones who 'just wanna help'?"

The professor put his pen down and looked at Daryl with an unreadable expression on his face.

"An answer for an answer" the hunter reminded the man and kept staring at him just as unforgiving and earnestly.

"If you want answers, then you have to give me some more details instead of just saying 'yes' or 'no'.  
Everything else is just wasting my time."

Daryl considered giving a smartass answer to that, his usual cocky and pissed remarks,  
but since he knew that he really wanted answers about Connor's brother he decided to be mature about it and kept playing along.

"I got shot in the chest, I lost a lot of blood, Connor gave me some of his."

The professor raised an eyebrow at that, seemingly intrigued by the answer and getting more and more interested in Daryl's story.  
He started scribbling on his papers and went into the usual busy doctor/professor mode.

"That's interesting, what changes did you experience after the transfusion?"

"You still owe me my answer, Frankenstein" Daryl reminded the man, who put his glasses down and sighed.

"He got into trouble back at a refuge center in his hometown. Soldiers tried to suffocate him with a pillow. He had a lot of trust issues because of that. And when one of our soldiers manhandled him and tried to get him out of a hot zone from a war with other residents of this city, he freaked and ran away. He never trusted anyone with a uniform in the first place. He constantly thought that everyone was trying to kill him."

Daryl snorted, suddenly feeling bitter. If everything was true and they were really talking about Connor's brother,  
then he kind of understood where all that fear was coming from. Not that he sympathized with that bastard though.  
He still wanted him dead, not alive.

"So the kid was a little..." he said and moved his finger in a circle next to the side of his head while whistling to let the Professor know he meant 'crazy'.

"It was complicated" Smith said and looked down, like he regretted something.

"Now you owe me my answer" he then said and looked at Daryl again, obviously not liking their back and forth.

But the man seemed to be of the honest kind, because he was playing along after all.  
Daryl just looked at him, not smiling, not looking angry, but not looking friendly either.

"Walkers wouldn't attack me anymore" the hunter answered, leaving out the part about how he'd heard them whisper and scream,  
almost like he was communicating with the undead in some sort of weird herd mentality.

"And they still don't attack you?" the professor muttered and kept writing on his papers.

Daryl shook his head.

"Nope. What was the name of the guy?"

The professor looked up at Daryl and gritted his teeth.

"How long since the transfusion?"

The hunter narrowed his eyes at the man, getting angry because he was trying to deny him his turn.

"The name" he snarled and the professor just looked at him.

"David. He told everyone he wanted to be called David" the other man answered and swallowed.

Daryl snorted.

"Bullshit!" he snapped and then got up.

"Now you're just wastin my time" he growled and started walking.

"We can still save so many people" the professor raised his voice and Daryl slowed down.

"Friends. What's left of families. Children, women. We could..repopulate entire towns without having to fear attacks or casualties with the dead rising from their graves. And we can make this place a home..for everyone who needs help or assistance. We didn't decide to broadcast and ask people to come just so we could rob them. Or murder them. That's what these..monsters do outside these walls" Smith went on and pointed at the window, to make it clear that he was talking about the people who had tried to ambush the two friends. Daryl turned around to look at the man.

"For _months_ we had absolutely _nothing_ to work with. I've had an entire group of young, talented students commit mass suicides because there was no way to fight this...thing, this disease. I spent night after night lying to my son and kept telling him that everything was going to be okay although I knew that we were _fucked_. But then our soldiers found this man, who was taking on this whole group of thugs and he was all alone. And by some _miracle_ he had survived a bite and a headshot wound and he told us he was immune and I just thought..finally. _Finally_."

He looked at Daryl yet again, but the hunter just stood there, fists clenched, biting his lower lip, looking angry but still listening.

"We were so _close_ to finding a cure, and then he just...slipped away. And we had another bunch of suicides, and believe me,  
if it weren't for my son then I would've offed myself because it was so goddamn _frustrating_."

There was a long pause after that. Smith rubbed his face for a while and looked out of the window, whereas Daryl just waited for him to continue.

"And now I've got this" the man finally said and lifted his papers up.

Another pause, and then he finally spilled this precious information, the one that Daryl wanted to know about but really dreaded at the same time.

"Look. I..know that he was your brother. And he later told Elizabeth that his real name was actually Murphy."

Daryl just stared, unable to say anything to that just now.

"I understand that you want to find him now, and believe me, I get that nothing is going to stop you anyway, but I'm _begging_ you here. Please. Just..give us more time to figure this out. Don't make me hold you back against your will. Let's just...get this done with first. Your immunity is of no use if you get killed out there, trying to find your brother. We can make this place work. For all of us. Maybe..we can even find him again. Bring him back. I had a small group chase him. They followed him all the way down to Savannah before we lost contact..."

Daryl finally knew how to talk again, but not without letting out a surprised gasp first.  
He had been unaware of the fact that he'd been holding his breath until now.

"He ain't my brother" he said, voice uncertain. He started walking again and headed for the chair, unsure what to do or what to say.

"Just look like 'im" he added and sounded extremely bitter, because there it was again, the hatred, the feeling of being only second best,  
the feeling of getting exploited, being the tiny unimportant shadow of ghost that was the size of a skyscraper.  
He sat back down on the chair and let out an exhausted sigh.

"He's Connor's brother" he explained and suddenly sounded defeated, quiet, and maybe even a bit disappointed.  
Although he'd already known the answer there had been a part of him that had hoped that maybe this was someone else.  
But here it was: the absolute proof. Murphy was alive.

"Oh...I thought.." Smith said and Daryl shook his head.

"'s kinda complicated. Yeah, they're twins but fraternal or something like that, and yes, I look like 'im but I ain't him, and we ain't related at all.  
's why _they_ 're both immune though. You're the doc. Hell, I don't know..."

There was another pause after that, because both men got lost in thoughts. Once again Daryl found himself at a two way street, and although his gut told him that it was pretty much settled, he still took his time to think it through. But it was too late anyway. His mind was all set up, and when he looked at Smith again he made the decision.

"You can't tell 'im" he said, certainty growing.

No matter how selfish or even mean that was right now. He needed time to think. Time to come to terms with the whole thing. No matter what he did: he was pretty certain that he was going to lose Connor either way. He just wanted more time, delay it, as long as he could. Smith frowned at that, picking up on how cruel it really was, no matter how much he wanted to keep Connor here.

"You tell 'im, he'll run. Right away. No waiting. No cure. No reason. He knows his bro is alive - he'll do _anything_ " Daryl said with an unreadable expression on his face.

Smith just kept staring at him, unsure if he should trust Daryl or not, but the hunter looked at him in a way that made him understand that he was far from fooling around.

"Do whatever yah gotta do. Keep 'im here. Do your tests, stick him in your fancy clothes and give him your shitty food, I don't care" he went on, jaw clenching because he was well aware of a fact that he was sealing his own fate with that.

"But get two things straight. Two rules."

Smith nodded slowly, awaiting some more information.

"You or your guys don't bring up his brother. Ever. Or names like Boston, tattoos, or the name 'Murphy'.  
He asks you, you tell him the immune kid -was- a kid. Early twenties. From New York. Come up with a name, I don't care."

The professor nodded once again, even writing it down.

"And hey" Daryl went on and the man looked up.

"Second rule: You look at him the wrong way, I break your jaw. You hurt him, harm him, or touch a single hair on his head the wrong way then I'm gonna kill you, and we're outta here. And it ain't gonna matter how many of your little soldiers you put in my way."


	15. Untold

"Holy shit, dude" Connor said as he opened the door with a loud slam, which startled Daryl and made him look up. Just for a moment panic rushed over the hunter, who was fearing that this was the part where his best friend had discovered that he was keeping some important information from him. It had taken the Irishman way too freaking long.

It was getting dark outside, and he must have spent more than one hour with Smith, which Daryl hadn't liked at all. He'd been sitting here in their room, without a clue, fearing that the professor would spill their secret and tell Connor everything. For a second both friends looked at each other, Connor seemingly puzzled by the look on Daryl's face, but then the older of the two friends stepped inside the room and seemed all excited, not pissed. Which definitely calmed the hunter down a bit.

"They're hosting a fuckin movie night in a couple 'a minutes" the Irishman stated and went for his duffel bag.

Daryl watched him walk across the room, a nervous frown on his face.

It suddenly felt so different. Like there was an invisible and fragile wall between them, one that he'd build up and didn't want to destroy.  
Even now there was a part of him that just wanted to get up, stare Connor right in the eye and say it: _Your brother is still alive. I think he's in Savannah._   
But he couldn't. Not after everything he'd told Smith. He needed to pull this through.

"Movie night" he just repeated and let out a gentle sigh.

Connor searched a couple of his things and nodded.

"A to the fucking aye. And we're invited."

Daryl raised an eyebrow at that, because even after all the talk with the others he still didn't really trust the whole place. It sounded like the whole feed them til you eat them kind of thing. But he decided to play along, because he still wanted to stay here, keep Connor here, get some food, something to drink just so he could get some rest for once.

"What movie?"

"Ninja Turtles" Connor answered and turned around to face his friend with a massive grin.

Daryl snorted and shook his head.

"What are you, five?"

"Oh come on, fuck whatever movie it is. It is what it is: a movie. I love movies" he muttered and turned around once more.

"Been too long since I last saw one" he went on an Daryl smirked privately.

"Yeah, I know. You won't ever shut up about that crap" he mumbled and Connor looked at him again.

The younger of the two friends frowned when he noticed the strange look on the Irishman's face.

"What?" he asked and Connor looked at him for a moment longer, only to shake his head with an amused smirk.

"Nothing, 's just...weird ta see ye all clean and with a real shirt fer once" he muttered and Daryl felt awkward.

But for Connor it was even more awkward, although he kept it to himself. He turned around and stopped looking at his friend like that.

He knew that the hunter still hated it very much, so he didn't bring his brother up again, although he now couldn't stop thinking about it. With all the dirt gone, Daryl's hair getting darker and darker and him wearing clean clothes with a shirt with sleeves Connor was once again reminded how -much- Daryl looked like Murphy. Now they were back to the whole thing, that his best friend was pretty much a perfect copy of his twin brother.

It was weird, really. He knew that Murphy would've been older than Daryl, but for some reason it was the hunter who looked and acted older. He also had a deeper and gruffer voice than his brother. If you didn't count all that and ignored the fact that his character was also different, then it really felt like Murphy was in the room with him. Even after all these months and all the letting go Connor still felt a big lump in his throat, which was the reason why he needed to turn away again so Daryl wouldn't see it.

 _Murphy_. He still loved him and missed him so -much- that it was absolutely ridiculous, although he wasn't really surprised.

Maybe it was a good thing that they were watching Ninja Turtles now. It was a cartoon. It was funny, it made you laugh and feel good.  
Although even there was a part to it: Murphy had also loved Ninja Turtles.

He tried not to dwell on it, and he certainly didn't want to think about it or feel upset.

Considering that this could be his last couple of nights.

This was another reason why he couldn't really look at Daryl, because the whole keeping things from his friend was making it rather hard. He hated to keep secrets, because they always felt like an unwanted wall between them. But he knew how his friend was going to react to the news, so he'd rather watch a fucking movie with him and pretend to be okay than have Daryl lose his shit yet again.

There had been a reason why he'd been with Smith for so long.

They'd had a long discussion about his 'condition', the results, the ideas, the further 'treatment' and research for a cure. The professor had told Connor that the whole surviving bites and fighting the fever and infection wasn't even the most important and unique part about his blood. Yes, it kept walkers from attacking him, yes, he had caused the same reaction inside Daryl (which had been by sheer luck), and yes, there was a high possibility that they could extract some of that and produce a vaccine to protect other people from bites.

But this was nothing compared to the other part. The 'best' part, as Smith had called it, although Connor really wasn't so sure if he could call it the 'best'.

The thing inside his brain had changed because of the bites, got 'switched off' and neutralized by his body. Or whatever was inside his body. He was smart, but even he couldn't really understand all the details. Just thinking about it freaked him out. He knew that everyone had something inside their brains, this was the thing that made dead people walk after all, but it still weirded him out, and whenever he though about it he couldn't help but scratch his head. Whatever was inside him, his body had been able to fight it. Which meant that should he ever die: he wouldn't get up again.

He wouldn't ever be a walking corpse, he would never kill anyone with his teeth and claws and eat their guts. It was supposed to be a good thing, but for some reason it didn't really make him feel good about it. Because this was the bad part, the one he wanted to keep from Daryl. To get to this part of the infection, the brain, to be able to use that new changed pathogen and really produce a cure that would keep the dead from getting up again, they would have to open him up. His head, to get to this part of the brain and get samples of the infected substance itself, and this was going to hurt, and there were -many- -many- things that could go wrong.   
  
Smith had told him that since the pathogen was inside a very important and very inaccessible part of the brain he was either going to die or be paraplegic. Which was practically a death sentence these days anyway. It was kind of logical, really. It was going to be messy, and they didn't have the doctors nor the equipment and electricity to do this sort of surgery anymore, so of course they were going to fuck him up, should he agree.

And he didn't even know if anything was going to work anyway, which was why Smith had given him some 'time to think about it'. Although Connor knew that there was no such thing. They were going to keep him here, do it no matter what, and he knew it. He also knew that it would be easy for him and Daryl to escape, but the truth was that he didn't really know if he wanted to. Because it really wasn't such a bad idea, if he was honest. He'd tried to commit suicide once. A useless death, really.   
  
And now he had this oportunity, to finally join Murphy again, and maybe by doing so, he could also help some people cure mankind with the stuff he had in his brain and blood. A heroic death, the death of a saint. Apart from the part where he didn't really want to die anymore. But still, better be safe than sorry. So he decided to treat this as his 'last nights on earth', no matter how cheesy that sounded. And no matter how much he hated to hide that from Daryl.

He got all his things together and then gave his friend a final look.

"You coming?" he asked, and the hunter just stared at his friend for a while.

Daryl knew it would be easier if he just said no. This way he wouldn't have to look Connor in the eyes or say anything to him. It would be way easier to hide the truth from his friend, because he really wasn't sure for how much longer he could keep the Murphy business to himself. But at the same time he knew that his time with Connor was running out, that sooner or later the Irishman was going to discover the truth, that he would run off without him to be reunited with his twin, so maybe he needed to get his guts together there. He wanted to spent some more time with his friend, because he didn't want to be grumpy all the time, because he didn't want to spoil Connor's mood every single time and act like a complete buzz kill.

Daryl chewed on his lower lip for a while and then nodded.

"Yeah. Right behind yah."

* * *

"I'm sorry, no alcohol allowed"

Although there were way too many things going through Daryl's head: he still couldn't help but smirk at that remark.

They were all inside a larger room that looked like it had used to be a conference room of some sort, or maybe even a flat lecture hall. The kids Emma, Tom and Ethan were there, all huddled together in front of the tiny television. The whole room was pretty much dark except for the light the tv produced, because they needed to save as much energy as possible.

"Are ye fuckin shitting me?" Connor asked, which made Daryl look at him yet again.

He was smirking even more because even he thought that the whole thing was pretty ridiculous.  
Asking Connor not to drink, that was like saying that water was completely dry.

"My blood type's practically 100% alcohol anyway" the Irishman stated and then took a sip of beer right in front of Smith, just to annoy him. About a second later there was a soldier, ready to grab the bottle from Connor's grip. The Irishman held on to it with a giggle but then let go, knowing that they better not strain their luck right now, because he seriously wanted to watch the freaking movie. The solider seemed extremely pissed off by Connor, which amused Daryl even more when he realized that it was the same soldier he'd pissed off earlier. The Irishman sighed and then walked over to the kids.

"Relax fellas, I was just trying ta lighten the mood a bit. My own included" he said and then sat down on one of the chairs, right between Elizabeth and an other nurse. Daryl automatically tensed when he saw that, his friend between two women, and now he saw how he was even getting engaged in a conversation with them. It was kind of ridiculous, really. How easy it was for the blonde to connect with other people. Wherever they went, as soon as there were friendlies and not enemies - Connor would be there, ready to talk to people, to make friends, have a good time and laugh.   
  
It had always been like that, even back on the farm. It had been way too easy for him to win the whole group's hearts with all his stupid talk, his jokes and stories. Even now no one could really explain it, there was just something about this freak, his charm, the way he acted. Daryl gritted his teeth even more when he remembered that this was how his friend had won him over after all.

And now he wasn't just jealous of the women, he was also jealous of Connor himself, because he knew that he could never be like that, that there were too many things broken inside him because of his past, and maybe he hated that. He turned his head to look at Smith, who was talking to one of the soldiers.

"Hey Frankenstein" he called out, but not too loud so neither Connor nor the kids would hear it.

Smith turned his head to look at Daryl.

"You mind if I drink some of that stuff, instead?" he asked and just got a shrug as an answer, since the professor was obviously busy.

The hunter took it as a yes and then walked over to the table with the bit of food and drink from one of their supply runs. He gave in to a little stare down with an other soldier who obviously didn't like the fact that he wanted something, and when the man placed a shot glass on the table Daryl just let out a snort and grabbed the whole bottle of hard alcohol.

"Hey, smartass..." the soldier started, but the hunter just walked away from the table.

"Miracle cure here, remember" he just said and went back to the chair, to sit down and start getting drunk.

He really needed that right now, for so many reasons. Because of the whole lying thing, the Connor with women thing, and because he hated fucking Ninja Turtles and needed to drink them better. He just sat there for a while, listened to the soldiers and the doctors, to the cartoon and the little children as he kept drinking and felt how the alcohol was beginning to make him feel numb and tingly.

Pretty soon Connor stopped talking to the nurses and was all eyes and ears on the cartoon, and it was quite a good thing to watch, really. And Daryl didn't think about the movie that way. No, it was more like he was happy to see his friend like that, happy, laughing and enjoying a simple movie. He'd been there all the time, he'd watched pretty much Connor's entire journey of getting over his twins death, and now it really looked like the blonde had reached a point in his life where he was 'happy' and content. As happy as you could ever be in a world like this, he guessed, but that didn't matter.

Daryl let out a gentle sigh and took another sip on the bottle.

Add another reason to the list why he didn't want to tell his friend about the fact that his brother was still alive. He just knew the impact it would have. Yes, Connor would be relieved to know that he had never killed his twin. But there were going to be days, maybe even months of searching, and he just knew that it would have a negative impact on his friend.   
  
The uncertainty, the unsatisfied longing for a reunion, and as soon as they found Murphy: the blame. He was sure that the guy was going to be hurt, maybe even broken after everything that had happened to him. The bite wound scar on his shoulder, then there had to be a ugly scar of the headshot wound Connor had caused, and he just knew that his friend was going to blame himself for all that.

Maybe Connor would go back to the self-loathing. And all the shit with Murphy was going to make it worse again. Maybe the little fucker had much more problems because of the after effects of the shot. It had to be like that. Then there was the part Smith had told him about: what had gone wrong in Boston with the military. Too many fuck ups that surrounded this Murphy guy. He needed to keep his friend from that. He looked up and smirked miserably when Connor started laughing because of a particularly funny scene in Ninja Turtles.

It was so stupid. The guy didn't have a clue.

And what made the whole thing even more fucked up was the fact that even now he couldn't really see Connor happy.   
Not when he wasn't happy. And all this knowledge he had right now meant also power.

He took another long sip on his whiskey and winced when it burned his throat.  
Man, he was getting dizzy, actually. He wasn't used to the booze anymore.

Connor laughed yet again and for some reason that made Daryl happy, but the happier it made him, the angrier he got. There was this tiny sick part of him, that damaged and broken typical 'Dixon' part that wanted to crush this happiness, tell Connor about Murphy just to watch him suffer yet again. Because watching his friend suffer would make him feel good, no matter how sick it really was. Because he was suffering, and if Connor suffered with him then this would mean that he wasn't alone, that they were in this together, suffering, pain, just like they'd gotten to know each other and spent most of their time together.

It was so right that Connor was happy, but it was so wrong at the same time because he couldn't be happy with him.

Another joke, another funny scene. Connor and the kids were laughing, and then the Irishman got engaged in a silly conversation with Smith's son. It was so ridiculous that the guy didn't have any kids of his own, that's what Daryl had to think about right then. He'd always been good with Carl, hell, even with little asskicker, and now this. The fucker had to be better than him at freaking -everything-. Well, if you didn't count hunting and surviving outside. But still, Daryl was getting sick of this, the fact that he enjoyed watching Ninja Turtles and enjoyed watching Connor watch Ninja Turtles, so he headed for the door to go outside and have a smoke.

Just like before soldiers blocked his way, but he just made a grumpy remark on if the guy wanted to join him on the crapper. All he needed was another angry glare at Smith, and then he was free to go to one of the small balconies. There were still some guards around (just in case, as everyone liked to call it), but at least he had some privacy out there while they waited inside.

And it wasn't like he could jump. He didn't have a bungee cord with him, he told another bunch of soldiers, before he could finally sit down, have a smoke, and most importantly: drink. He looked up at the sky and could even see the stars. It was a mild summer night, and since the alcohol was cooling his skin anyway he actually really enjoyed the temperatures out here. It was a nice contrast to the freakishly hot days, the running, the tick bites and everything.

He automatically scratched his left arm and wrinkled his nose in disgust when he remembered that he was all clean and vulnerable. Daryl lit up one of their few smokes and then leaned over the balcony a bit, to check if he could see someone down there. All he could see was the river and darkness. The whole city was dark, although he believed to see a faint campfire on the other side of the river. Even after almost a year of watching the world go to shit he still wasn't used to the look of a dead, abandoned city.

"Don't do it!" he heard Connor say and startled.

Daryl turned his head to look at his friend, who was standing by the door with a smirk on his face.

"You jump, I jump, Rose" the Irishman said and stared at the hunter a second longer, only to snort and then chuckle.

"Very funny" Daryl muttered and turned his head again so he could look at the river and take another drag on his cigarette.

Connor walked over to his friend and looked down as well.

"Why'd you leave? Ye missed the epic finale.. All fighting and shit, and those turtles saving te day. What a surprise, really" the Irishman muttered and then stole the cigarette from Daryl's hand before the hunter got another chance to smoke it himself. Connor took a long drag and then groaned.

"Fuck, been too long since I last had one."

Daryl wouldn't say anything to that, he just sat there and enjoyed being outside. Connor seemed to notice his mood soon.

"What's up with you again, they poke ye the wrong way?"

The hunter looked at his friend for a moment, but as soon as their eyes met he felt the guilt rise again.  
And now that he was a -bit- drunk he feared speaking out the truth even more.

"Nah, just tired, I guess" he answered and then offered Connor the hard alcohol as well, knowing that his friend really wanted it.

The Irishman grinned and took the bottle.

"Sweet" he said and took a large sip, only to clear his throat.

"Tastes like piss, but I don't fuckin care" he muttered and nearly let it slip, the ' _this could be my last day, so fuck it, I need alcohol'_.

There was silence for a while, and both men just kept each other company, as they shared the cigarette and bottle until Daryl finally knew how to talk again.

"So what took that weirdo so long with you?" he asked, which made Connor look at him. Daryl kept going.

"What'd he say?"

There was a long pause, as Connor tried to sort his thoughts and come up with a clever lie. He hated lying, and whenever he did it it felt like his left index finger was burning, the tattoo, reminding him of what he'd sworn: tell the truth. He swallowed hard and looked away, down at the black mirror that was the river.

"Didn't really understand shit. Loadsa medical stuff. But nothin really new. Many of the things that Milty already told us about."

Another pause.

"They took some more blood. He says they wanna try t'find something like a vaccine. Something that works just like it did with you, something that keeps walkers from attacking people or something like tha" he said, and although he was lying through his teeth he was actually surprised how convincing he sounded. When he looked at Daryl it really looked like his friend didn't have a clue about the whole missing part, the fact that he was half-lying his way through this, the whole ' _oh and by the way, it could kill me, but fuck that, nice weather_ '.

"What about ye`What'd you two talk about?" he asked to change the topic.

Another pause. Both men staring each other right in the eye.

Now it was Daryl who swallowed, ever so slightly, and covering up with a drag on their smoke.   
He shook his head and then looked down at where he dropped the cigarette butt.

"Same. Less. Talked about you a bit, and that my stuff ain't really special. I told 'em they should focus on you, which they did, by the looks of it" the hunter answered and tried to sound relaxed and engaged in an everyday small talk. Another lie, and just like minutes before: it didn't look like the other had a clue what was behind all that.

Although both men kind of suspected that the other was keeping something from them. They knew each other well in that regard, just not well enough to read each other's minds. And then there was the other part to it: the fact that they were both too proud and too stubborn to actually call the other out and ask for the truth.

"Right. Aye. They did."

And yet another pause. It was getting awkward between them, and both men could sense that there was something different, that neither was relaxed, that everything was tense and felt forced. Daryl yawned just to mask his own awkwardness. Connor just seemed disappointed by the lack of their usual closeness and warmness. The blonde took another long sip on the bottle and then wipped his mouth.

"Alright. Better get back inside. I got another episode t'watch" he muttered and patted Daryl's chest as he gave him the bottle back.

The hunter nodded and patted the Irishman's hand back.

"Yeah, you do that. 'm gonna go and crash. Kinda tired" he said and lied yet again.

He just wanted to get back to their room so he could do some more drinking and brood.

Connor chuckled.

"Make that wasted" he said and opened the door. He was on his way back inside when he suddenly kept talking.

"And about yesterday" he said and Daryl listened up.

Connor turned around and smirked at him.

"Don't have ta be sorry fer nothing. I know you were just pissed because of te whole me provoking you thing.   
Still, apology accepted" he said as he turned around and pulled the door closed behind him.

Daryl looked at the door for a whole minute, mind buzzing from the alcohol, until he finally understood what Connor meant with the whole thing.

* * *

He didn't even need to listen up. He knew who was coming closer and closer to the room he was 'sleeping' in. But when he did listen up he let out a gentle chuckle, because the footsteps told him that the person he was hearing was actually drunk. Or he was undead, he couldn't really tell. The door opened about half a minute later, shining some light inside his room and blinding him. Daryl still wouldn't shield his eyes, he was just lying there, head resting on both his arms, staring at the ceiling.

"What te fuck" he heard Connor mutter right from where he was standing, and he knew what his friend was referring to. The hunter had made his way to their room after his smoke break on the balcony, and he'd spent the time Connor was busy watching movies with getting their room ready together with one of the nurses. Which basically meant that he'd snapped at her every time she asked too many questions or did something wrong. He had set their room up like this, couch ready with pillows and a blanket, just waiting for his friend while he slept on the floor a bit further away from the couch.

He was used to the whole thing, sleeping on floors, making room for others, because he didn't need much and wanted others to get the whole good stuff.

He pretended to be asleep, simply because he didn't want to get into an argument over who was sleeping on the couch, because he was pretty sure that Connor was going to put up a fight. He dared not to make a sound or even shift as he listened to how his friend stumbled across the room, towards the couch that had been prepared for him. And much to Daryl's confusion the walking wouldn't stop. Only a few moments later there was a thud right next to him, and the hunter believed that it had been a pillow. A moment later there was another gentle thud (the blanket), followed by a much heavier thud. There was a moan right after that, and Daryl finally shifted.

"What the.." he growled and turned his head to look at his friend, who was lying right next to him, on his belly, face buried in his pillow.

"Shut it" came the muffled answer from Connor.

Daryl moved yet again and shifted his weight on his elbows.

"No. You get your ass back on your couch" he said and shoved his friend, who turned his head and looked back at him with drunken eyes and messy hair.

"Fuck you, I ain't sleepin on a fuckin couch and have ye sleep on te ground like some fucking dog" Connor answered and moved out of his friend's reach, so Daryl would stop shoving him. His brogue was worse when he was drunk, and it took Daryl a moment to get used to it.

"Ever thought about how I probably moved your shit up there so I could sleep in peace for once?" the hunter growled with an angry frown and still tried shoving his friend away.

But this time it was Connor who suddenly turned around and started shoving him back.

"You know what, fuck you" the Irishman suddenly said and the two of them got into yet another one of their brawls, only that this time it was a little bit rougher and way more clumsy because they both were a tiny bit drunk.

"Every single fuckin time we get into this shit" the Irishman growled and moved and shoved and kicked, while Daryl fought back just as hard, trying everything to get his friend off him, while Connor tried to stay where he was.

"Ever since I fuckin met you ass, and every single fuckin time you do that shit and kick my guts and fight me" and a sudden wave of drunkenness rushed over him and caught him off guard. Daryl used the time to shove and kick him away.

"Just fuck off and get back on the damn couch, you drunk asshole" he roared, getting sick of the whole thing just like pretty much every night.

But Connor was too drunk, because he had spent pretty much the rest of the evening giving himself Dutch courage for tomorrow, trying to make up his goddamn mind about everything, and maybe the whole clean Daryl looking so much like Murphy had given him the rest for today. And this was enough to make him desperate, although this sounded pretty pathetic.

And yet he didn't care. Just like all the other stuff he'd done today after his talk with Smith he treated this right here with the same 'fuck it' attitude. So he kept fighting, because he wanted to hold on to something, to someone, and since his only one, Murphy, was gone, Daryl would have to do and maybe he could treat some things differently compared to how they'd treated each other before, as long as he still had the time.

"No I fuckin won't" he answered and got a knee in his guts for that which made him groan in pain, and that was just about to send him over the edge and make him even more angry. "I'm getting sick of this fighting and punching bullshit" he said and finally managed to overwhelm Daryl, who got that furious and yet freaked out look on his face again.

"I said fuck off" the hunter spat, voice now alarmingly dangerous and pissed off as he stared up at his friend with wide mad eyes.

" And I fucking hate you" Connor answered, and there was some truth to that, because his friend really could see some sort of hatred in his eyes, and he was quite surprised when he realized that it hurt him. It was true, what the Irishman said, because just like him he was getting sick and tired of all their fighting, their brawls and the insults and harsh words. But this was how they'd always worked. It was the sheer annoyance that kept their friendship going, like it was some sick drug. Because just like all sorts of shitty drugs it worked the same way: you know that shit destroys you, your mind, your body, and yet you can't stop consuming it.

But he hated the hatred between them, because it hurt, because it was harsh and brutal to keep hearing these words. Especially since he knew that those were the words he was going to hear as soon as Connor discovered the truth about Murphy, that these were the last words he was going to hear as soon as they parted. And what made it even more fucked up was how he was the one who kept digging his own grave with all his lies, all the punches and words and all the shoving Connor away.

What he didn't expect next though, was that the Irishman suddenly used his dominating position and dropped his head down to crash their mouths together. There was nothing romantic about it, nothing tender. It was too rough and angry to be anything like that. And it certainly wasn't filled with anything you could call something silly like 'love'. Because this was stupid, and certainly not a word the two of them would ever use to describe whatever was going on between them anyway.   
  
Right now it was actually really filled with hatred, and this was a new form of violence and taking without asking. On top of that it was actually quite disgusting, because they were both terribly bad at it, because their mouths tasted like putrid alcohol, stale cigarettes and men who barely got to use a toothbrush these days. And because the movement had happened too fast, too abruptly it didn't end up as the kiss Connor had intended, it was the clacking of teeth and the smashing of split lips that was awkward and nothing but strange.

Daryl was completely freaked out by the whole thing, paralyzed and terrorized because his best _friend_ was freaking kissing him. Countless ' _no_ 's' kept repeating themselves in his head like a broken record. Because he wasn't into guys at all, hardly any women, hell, practically no one, because this was Connor, because this was so fucking wrong, because Merle and his father were screaming at him in his mind.   
  
The 'no' kept repeating itself, but even with all that chaos in his brain that felt so tiny all of a sudden, he still couldn't do anything about it, and then there it was: the other part of his brain that suddenly 'crashed the party'. The lonely, more embarrassing part of his brain that _cheered_ because _he_ was the one Connor had 'chosen' instead of any of the women they had encountered. The part of his brain that screamed 'Finally!' because after years upon years of being lonely, abused, ignored and bullied he was getting some 'action'.

It was stupid and pathetic, but no matter how hard he had tried and kept telling himself that he didn't need anyone, that he couldn't do it: whenever he'd seen his group, Glenn and Maggie, Rick and Lori, Andrea and Shane, Shane and Lori...he'd always felt jealous. Always envied their abilities to be 'intimate' with someone. And every single time he'd loathed himself, wondered what the fuck was wrong with him, why _he_ couldn't get it and now this.

It shouldn't surprise him, really, he thought. There had been -many- 'almost' situations in his and Connor's relationship, but the whole thing still caught him completely off guard.

His mind had been spinning with all these thoughts and it had felt like eternity, whereas in reality, the whole thing happened in less than a minute. Especially during the envious and 'finally' part he suddenly clung to his friend's shirt and responded for a split second, moved his lips and maybe kissed back, but right then his instincts kicked right in. Daryl suddenly knew how to react again, knew how to move his body and how to breathe, so he instantly did the only natural thing he could do to react to this sudden attack.

He snapped his eyes open in horror, lunged out with his arm and hit his friend's left kidney as hard as he possibly could.

Connor instantly broke the kiss and moved his head up to catch breath and groan in pain, and the younger of the two friends used this opportunity to send his fist flying again, but this time it connected with the Irishman's left temple. Connor fell off of him because of the sheer force of the punch, and Daryl moved away from under him, sitting up straight, hair a complete mess, eyes wide in shock and terror because he couldn't believe that this shit had really happened.

So much had been destroyed between them because of that simple gesture. Just like that. It scared the living daylights out of him because he'd never experienced anything like that, because it was foreign, because it had caught him off guard like a knife attack from his father. It was so horrible and confusing that it just couldn't be fucking true and he wanted it to be over and forgotten.

Connor held his head with a reproachful moan, and when their eyes met again Daryl was quite surprised to see that the Irishman was honestly -hurt- by his behavior, looking instantly sober. And although the younger of the two friends felt sorry for his reaction he still couldn't keep the defensive and yet aggressive words in.

"I'm going to kill you if you do that again" he snarled instinctively, just like always, and for the moment he really meant it.

He didn't wait for an answer, he just grabbed his stuff and moved to the other side of the room, far away from his friend, back turned on him, facing the cold wall. He squeezed his eyes shut, head still buzzing with countless emotions, and it took a pretty long while until he finally heard how Connor moved as well, back to the couch, shuffling ever so quietly, not making another sound at all, which made Daryl's guts clench and twist.   
  
Now that he'd had a couple of minutes to calm down he really regretted his lashing out, hated having to hurt his friend like that, and even though the manly part of himself had him in a headlock he just wanted to walk over and apologize like yesterday. But he was too proud to do it, too confused, and still way too scared.

And he just wanted to grab his pillow and scream in it, rip it apart, grab his crossbow and shoot someone, because he had fucked it up yet again, because he kept making the wrong calls, because their time was running out and because this was reason number one why he _should_ tell his friend about Murphy: he knew that this ghost fucker would never do anything like that, because he would never hurt him, and because the Irish freak deserved someone better than fucked up him.


	16. Truth

"I...don't want to rush you, but...we need a decision. Today. We want to perform surgery tomorrow morning."

These words snapped Connor out of his state. He was tired and moody because he'd hardly caught some sort of sleep after what happened last night, and maybe he still couldn't stop thinking about it. He eyed the professor head to toe, saw all the papers on the man's table and despite everything he still had to crack a smile, although it wasn't really a happy one.

"I think you and I both know that it's nat really my decision. And that no matter what I say, yer still gonna do it"   
Connor said and wouldn't stop looking at the man.

There was a little pause, then he shifted and went on.

"Yer gonna do it no matter what - cut me open. Look at my brain. Poke it and cut stuff out of it just so ye can understand what the fuck is going on with these things out there. " he said and pointed at the window.

"And what's going on with me. With or without my consent."

The professor looked at the Irishman and swallowed nervously.

"I..we, actually. We still want you to feel comfortable with it. And I want to make you understand how important this is. How..how important and unique _you_ are and what this will do for all the people out there, the people that are still out there. Women, children and men who are scared of something that we might be able to fight once and for all."

Connor snorted and then looked out of the window.   
It got more and more obvious that he was upset and hurt,  
and today was one of these days where he just felt lonely and wouldn't hide it.

" _Might_ " he repeated. And the professor nodded.

"Yes. Might. But we stand a chance. And that's all we've got these days. A maybe-cure is better than no cure at all."

Connor leaned back and folded his hands over his belly with a gentle sigh.

"Aye."

Another long pause. The Irishman bit his upper lip and watched the sun outside.

"Y'know..." he started and then looked down at his bandaged hand with the Veritas tattoo.

"Before all of that shit happened...I lived in Boston. Had a normal life, a job, church, a shitty apartment.." he took a deep breath and swallowed.

"Twin brother..."

He said and there was another long pause.

"Then I had my first big event, my personal fuckin outbreak of evil. Invading our home and trying ta kill us. Just like these undead things out there. Only difference was that they used guns insteada teeth and nails. Me and my brother, we fought those first three evil bastards in our lives. Made it our calling after that."

He sighed and rubbed his temple because it pounded from Daryl's punch yesterday night.

"And we hunted them down and we killed 'em and they hunted us down and tried ta kill us, so really. Kill or be killed. 't wasn't that much different compared t'all the shit that's happening these days."

Another pause. Connor started stroking his tattoo. He felt both proud and bitter.

" I always knew that there's too many of 'em out there. Too much evil, too much fucked up shit. Murder. Robberies. 't was my brother and me against the whole world. Fuckin huge world of evil. Pretty much indestructible. And we both always knew that we'd just make a dent. That this fucked up world would always stay dirty, dangerous and lethal. We both knew that we'd never make it a real happier place, a safe place fer everyone. There'd never be a perfect 'good' world."

The professor just sat there and listened, obviously not sure how he was supposed to handle the information that Connor had been a serial killer before the apocalypse.

"I also knew how dangerous it was. I knew there was always this elephant in te room.   
High probability of getting shot, or stabbed, or captured, tortured and murdered one way or the other and all that."

Another long pause. The Irishman searched his pockets but got frustrated when he didn't find any cigarettes.   
So all he could do was keep talking.

"And I didn't care. 't was worth the risk. Because at the same time I knew that maybe I could save a couple of kids. Save a couple of girls from rapists or get them off te streets, save a bunch of women from abusive husbands or save a couple of highschool boys from an overdose. I knew that if I could just save _one_ person's life, or five, or ten, or maybe even hundreds, as long as I could save _some_ of them, then it would be worth it. Certainly worth our lives. Cos at least I could die knowing that I -did- something. That I -cared-. Much in contrast to the ' _if it's not about me it's not my problem'_ kinda bullshit society we were living in."

The professor nodded slowly, and finally seemed to get what the Irishman was aiming at.  
Connor remained silent for a while to gather his thoughts and make up his mind.  
He cleared his throat and looked out of the window again.

"Maybe that's just like that now. Maybe I just...gotta _not_ care about my own life fer the sake of many others" he muttered, although it felt so stupid, so ridiculous that people thought he was the person to save mankind or some crap like that.

And what made it even more ridiculous was the fact that he had the Jesus tattoo on his back, the man he admired and loved the most next to his brother. Jesus, who had died in order to free all men from their sins. There was no way he was anything like his idol, he kept telling himself. He wasn't a martyr, he was selfish about it, because even after all these months and couple of weeks of happiness there was always a part of him that just wanted to die, to stop running, to stop suffering, to stop feeling like he was only half there because his other half was dead.

Although he didn't really -want- to die or feel suicidal, if he _had_ to die like in this situation right here, then he wouldn't do it to save mankind. That was just a nice coincidence. If he decided to do it then it wasn't out of the goodness of his heart or because he believed in mankind. That kind of hope and naivety had died months ago in Boston. No, if he had to die and decided to do it, then it was because he wanted to be with Murphy again, because this was his chance without it being suicide.

He cleared his throat and kept looking at the professor.

"What'd ye say? How high are the chances of me surviving this surgery, and what exactly could go wrong?"

Smith sighed and leaned back as well.

"You have to understand that even before society got destroyed brainstem surgery was one of the most difficult surgeons. The brainstem is very hard to reach. There are many things that we could accidentally hurt and destroy. There are bones, arteries, and veins in the way. The stem connects your brain with the spinal cord and regulates basic vital life functions like Breathing. Your heartbeat. Your conciousness, Arousal..."

Connor snorted at this.

"Aye, well. No need ta worry there I suppose. Not like I need that these days anyway" he muttered, and Smith kept going.

"It regulates your blood pressure, your digestion of food. And the spinal cord, as you know, is a precious instrument, that connects your body with your brain. That makes you walk, operate your feet, your hands, your fingers. We hurt any of that or if the infection already affects those parts and the surgery could and _will_ be life-threatening. Important brain functions could cease to exist. You could lose your hearing or sight, your ability to walk or move. And there's a high chance that it could result in your death. Even without an accident - we don't have the best equipment to do this. Back in the old days we had 3D equipment and technology to help us. Now we're back to the basic concept. So it is _very_ risky."

Smith put his glasses down on the table and rubbed his eyes for a while.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Connor" he said and then looked at the Irishman.

"We're going to try our best, give it our best shot to get our samples and data without hurting you permanently but...there is a high chance that you are not going to survive this. And if you do, then you could die from an infection post surgery because we don't have the right antibiotics to treat the after effects of such an immense surgical intervention. And even if you survive. There's little to no chance that you are going to walk away with just a scar on the back of your head."

Connor looked at the man and swallowed, quite taken aback by all the 'ifs' and 'maybes' and all the horrible things that could go wrong.

"But...ye could do something with it. Won't be fer nothing in the end."

Smith nodded.

"No matter what we get. It will be something we can work with. That could help us."

The blonde Irishman chuckled.

"There ye go again. With all yer 'might's and 'could's. How about a 'will' fer once.   
How about ye tell me something of certainty, doctor Quinn"

Smith just looked at him, suddenly looking very determined.

"I love my son. And I want to save him from getting eaten alive and turned into one of those things. I want him to have a childhood without monsters, like the one I had. I want him to go out there without having to be afraid of walking corpses. I want to keep him safe and protect him. No matter what. I will do anything to assure that. And I'm sure that there's someone in your life that you want to save and protect like that, too."

Connor looked back at the man, eyes suddenly looking very sad.

"I needed that sort of miracle cure 338 days ago.   
Cos the person I really wanted to save and protect like that is already dead."

Smith looked at the Irishman in a strange way then, but Connor figured that this was only because the guy couldn't imagine what it felt like to lose someone like that. The man had a biggest fear, but much in contrast to Connor he'd never had to face it. Yet. The blonde chewed on his lip for a bit longer, and then let out a final gentle sigh.

"Alright, doc. You win" he said and looked out of the window again.

"I'm gonna do it. Ye got my permission to screw with my brain" he muttered and then grabbed his rosary.

When he looked at the professor again he tried to act all cheery.

"But hey, maybe te whole thing really is a miracle through and through. Maybe I really walk out of there without a single scratch because I'm so _special_. Already survived two near death experiences. Might as well do another one" he said and forced himself to grin at the man, to look like he was super optimistic.

_You've got the visualize the end result. You've got to force it into reality.  
Believe. You've got to fuckin believe._

That's what he'd told Murphy once after all.

Smith eyed him at this remark and raised an eyebrow.

"Are...you sure?"

Connor nodded because he didn't want to think about it anymore.  
Because he was scared _shitless._

"Aye. Aye. 'm dying t'get this shit outta me" he answered and then chuckled at his own joke.

"Dying. Ha" he repeated and then took a deep breath.

He felt a bit awkward because Smith wouldn't really say something, it even looked like the guy pitied him.  
Connor calmed down from his sudden adrenaline rush and then blew out some air.

"Just..give me a couple 'a hours?"

"To tell your friend? He seems to care about your wellbeing. Very much."

The Irishman snorted miserably.

"He doesn't give two shits 'bout me or how 'well' I am or feel" he said and looked away, replaying the rejection from yesterday night, over and over again.

_I'm going to kill you if you do that again._

_I'm here to get your ass to this hospital so we can find a cure. Not t'talk about your whiny feelings. Whatever yah think is goin on between us. Ain't true. I'm stuck with you cos I saved your life, because you saved mine, and because yah immune t'this shit._ _And because you're a decent fighter. Nothin more._

He swallowed and then shook his head.

"No. I wanna pray, actually" he said calmly and then nodded.

"Set a couple 'a things right between me 'n god before...well. Can't be too careful."

Smith nodded and then looked at his papers.

"Of course. If that's what you want. As soon as you're done with that I need you to come back to my office so we can discuss tomorrow. And I...well. Before you go I need to take some more blood samples for further tests. We need a lot of that, actually."

The Irishman nodded.  
He knew that they needed the blood and he wanted to help, but truth was that he wanted to be alone now.  
But he still nodded and gave in.

"Aye. Take what ye need t'make the whole thing work."

* * *

Daryl was pacing around the facility. The corridors, the offices and the cafeteria, every single room he was allowed to enter, with guards constantly on his heels to keep him from doing something stupid, to keep him from getting to Connor. He'd woken up all alone in their room. The office had been empty. He'd been all alone on the cold hard floor, regretting everything he'd said and done the night before.

Connor had been gone all morning and noon, and he still wasn't there. Once again his obsession with his friend was getting worse and worse. He hated to be separated from the Irishman, wanted to know if he was okay, because he knew what had happened pretty much every time they had been separated. He wanted to apologize. He didn't want to talk about the kiss or whatever it had been though. He just wanted to act like nothing had happened between them. The hunter wanted his friend back, like on the balcony. Share cigarettes and booze. Watch stupid movies and laugh. Fight walkers and bash their heads in, kill thugs and fucked up people.

He just wanted him back.

It was way past noon when he finally saw Connor, and the sight made him furious. His friend was very pale and sweaty, like he was sick. He looked weak and a little bit fucked up, but he was still walking upright, clutching to his rosary with both hands as he entered their room and closed the door shut behind him. Daryl looked around with a worried frown but couldn't really see anyone who had followed Connor, and certainly not Smith, so he walked over to the door to enter the room as well. He wanted to know what was going on, what was wrong, and maybe he wanted to apologize.

When he finally opened the door he could see Connor on the couch, all sprawled out and face hidden in the crook of his arm that was bandaged.

Which would explain why his friend was white as a sheet. It looked like those fucking _vampires_ had taken some of his blood yet again. Daryl entered the room and closed the door shut behind him. Connor wouldn't move an inch, despite the fact that he knew his friend was there. The younger of the two just stood by the door for a while, examining his friend, trying to make out what was wrong with him. In the end he decided that talking was his best option.

"What'd those fuckers do this time?" he asked and walked away from the door, trying not to sound worried or freaked.

He didn't really know how he was supposed to talk to Connor after what had happened last night, but he still needed to know.   
Wanted to know.

"What's it look like" came the quiet answer from Connor, who still wouldn't move.

He was just lying there, on his back, eyes shielded, bandaged hand on his rising and falling chest.  
Daryl just stood there and watched him, chewing on his lip, feeling awkward and yet concerned.

"Looks like they pumped too much juice outta you" he observed and Connor chuckled without smiling.   
He even looked a bit miserable.

"No shit, Mr redneck Sherlock" the blonde answered and Daryl chewed on the inner side of his cheek, feeling both angry and frustrated.

He waited a bit, hoping that Connor would spill the beans and tell him what was wrong, but of course.  
The Irishman treated him with his best punishment: complete and utter silence.

"Yah can't just let 'em do that shit. Don't care if they need your blood or whatever. Just like atcha" the hunter said, but there was more silence.

"Ain't right" he went on and kept his eyes fixed on the bandage of Connor's arm, and the pale visible part of his face.

Still no answer. Daryl could already feel it ache because it was so frustrating when his friend was like that, the exact opposite of how he liked him.

"They got your blood now. Maybe we should leave. Remember what Bob said? They let you in but they ain't letting you out? Maybe that's the first sign, here, man. Just, damn, did they pump everything outta yah? You're white as a fuckin sheet" he said and clenched his fists, suddenly feeling extremely angry because Smith had broken his promise, his rule not to touch a hair on the Irishman's head or hurt him during their stay.

Connor suddenly moved his arm so he could look at him, blue eyes tiny and yet piercing and cold. He let out a hollow chuckle and raised an eyebrow.

"Oh right. Ye wanna leave. Now that there's someone else fuckin me up insteada you."

Daryl frowned.

"I ain't..."

"Newsflash, asshole. My body. My say. 'm staying, the shit was necessary, I'm doin it and it's fine. It's fuckin ridiculous how ye act all concerned and protective of me and the next thing I know is I get another fuckin fist in my face."

"I don't..." the hunter began with clenched fists but trailed off, because he didn't even know what he was supposed to say. It was right there, on the tip of his tongue, the _I'm sorry_ , yet again, but nothing would come out. He just stood there and stared at Connor, fists clenched, frustration and confusion building up. His friend suddenly shifted and lay on his side. "'m fuckin tired" he said, back turned on Daryl. The hunter swallowed hard, understanding what it meant.

"Yah want me t'leave yah alone?" he asked bitterly.

He didn't want to leave, but at the same time he really did, just so he could talk to someone, talk some sense into them, or punish them for going to far with his friend.

"Aye" came the answer, which made him even more angry and pissed.

He hated everything right now. He started walking and headed for the door, and when he just about to pull the door handle and standing right next to Connor's couch his friend suddenly spoke up again. "Wait" he suddenly said and the hunter did as he was told, hand resting on the door knob, eyes fixed on Connor's back.

"I gotta tell ye something, actually" he said but still wouldn't turn around.

Daryl let go of the door knob and just waited. Connor rubbed his eye with an exhausted sigh and then turned on his back so he could look at his friend. The two men looked right at each other, both too tired and fed up with everything to mask how they felt. The Irishman looked tired and upset, Daryl looked also tired, but at the same time he was pissed and looked defeated. They just looked each other right in the eye for a while, not really fearing the intimacy of it all. The being mad at each other stopped from one second to the next because of that look, and after swallowing hard the Irishman finally spoke.

"They're gonna perform surgery on me tomorrow" he began and Daryl raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"What?"

Connor nodded and then stared at the ceiling with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Aye. I agreed t'do it. They gave me time t'think about it. And I decided ta say yes."

There was a long pause after that, as Daryl tried to make anything out of the information and Connor tried to come up with a way how he was supposed to tell his friend.

"Something wrong with you?" the hunter managed to force out, because he could hardly contain his emotional reaction to the words 'Connor' and 'surgery' being in the same sentence.

The Irishman smirked a bit and shook his head.

"Nah. That's exactly te point" Connor answered and swallowed yet again.

It took him another moment to speak it out and he used the time to sit up and rub his face.   
When he looked up again he was facing his friend, who looked both angry and a little bit scared.

"They don't just need my blood ta help people, Daryl. The blood might help after a bite, and it might hide people from walkers like it did with ye, but that's not the solution t'our problem: Dead people comin back ta life and walkin around. But they think they could find something ta stop that as well. All they gotta do is open this thing up and get t'it" he said and pointed at his own head.

Daryl just looked at him, angry frown on his face, completely frozen on the spot.

"So?"

The Irishman snorted and shook his head. He got up and walked over to the window, to look at all the potential escape routes he'd come up with.

"Maybe yer right about the gettin outta here part" he murmured and Daryl finally shifted a bit, seemingly relieved.

"Okay" he answered, and when there was some more silence he kept talking.

"Let's get to it then. 'm gettin sick of the smell of this place anyw..."

"I mean that _you_ should probably leave" Connor interrupted his friend, who froze yet again and looked extremely confused.

"What? Don't be stupid. I ain't gonna leave yah t'these freaks."

"Yes, yer gonna do just that."

Daryl gritted his teeth and clenched his fists.

"Listen...I ain't got time for this crap talk and I don't exactly think it's fuckin necessary t'act like some crazy bitch cos of last night.."

"It got nothing t'do with last night, dumbass" Connor said and turned away with an eyeroll, obviously hating to be reminded of it.

"Yeah of course. You can't handle rejection and talk and do shit about feelings, and because it ain't workin with me yah think you gotta..."

"Just shut up! It's not about that" Connor interrupted his friend and turned around with a furious look on his face.

And here he had it, the opportunity to fuck his friend over, to tell him lies that last night was the reason he wanted them to part, but he just couldn't bring himself to lie, because he knew that Daryl wouldn't believe it, because he knew that his friend deserved to hear the truth because friendship was about honesty, not secrets.

"It's about te fact that they're gonna cut me open t'get to the brain stem, where the virus is located, and there's a pretty high fuckin probabilty that it's either gonna kill me, or fuck me over and make me a cripple" he finally said, and he was actually surprised how good it felt to speak it out, to lift that weight off of him. "Either way, I don't want ye here anymore. I want ye ta get back t'our people. The job is done after all. Yer saved my ass, ye helped me and got those people their magic fuckin cure, so no one fuckin needs yer ass here anymore. It's not about you, here. And they're gonna kick ye out anyway. Or worse. Maybe ye should just leave on yer own while ye still can" he said and avoided eye contact yet again. He kept looking out of the window instead.

For a moment Daryl just stood there, frozen, unable to move, eyes widened in shock, unable to say anything, feeling an incredible weight on his chest.

_This couldn't be true._

"You helped me a lot, and I thank ye fer that, but now I think it's my turn ta help someone. And the way he explained it, I think we really could get something here. Just like Milton always said. I wanna help people. And the whole bite and immunity shite's gotta be worth something. That's what we came here for, that's what we get" Connor said.

"You agreed" Daryl managed to interrupt him, but even now it felt like he couldn't breathe, like the walls were closing in on them, like they were standing at the edge on top of a skyscraper. "Aye, I did" Connor said and then grabbed a cigarette from the table. He lit it and took a long drag on it, trying to look all relaxed and okay with it, although he really wasn't.

"You're not really gonna do that" Daryl breathed, slowly being able to respond properly, feeling the anger and panic grow inside of him.

"Yes. I am" Connor said and turned around again to look out of the window.

"'s not even my decision. It's god's will, that is. Murphy once told me that I still got a purpose here. That it was our job t'clean the world from all the filth and the evil. I think it's my final job. God needs me ta do it. Just like he sent his son on Earth ta purify it and teach them his word. Someone's always gotta pay te price fer the greater good, I guess."

"This is complete and utter bullshit" Daryl suddenly spat and kicked the table so hard that he broke the rear panel.

Connor turned around in surprise to look at his friend, who already came closer to him.

"Yah ain't gonna do it. I won't let yah"

"Fuck you, it's my decision, not yers" Connor countered and shoved his friend away to keep him at a distance.

"You ain't gonna let 'em open yah up, even if it's just to check what _the fuck_ is wrong with your stupid brain to think that some bullshit like this is worth it!" Daryl started yelling, and Connor yelled back.

"This isn't about me, or you, or us, it's about those people out there.   
And I got everything I need t'fuckin help them if I just fuckin let 'em!"

"Who are yah supposed t'help, huh? Everyone's _dead_ , dumbass! The world went to shit! It's too late, we're fucked, everyone's fucked, there's nothin t'save, just look out there! There's dead bodies everywhere!" Daryl yelled, desperate to keep his friend from doing this, to change his mind. He was so incredibly furious that Connor was so stupid to believe this. His whole religious fanaticism was making him just as brain dead as all the walkers!

The Irishman suddenly shoved him hard and pointed at the door instead.

"Y'know what I see? There's fuckin kids out there. Ethan, Emma. Tom. And now just think about Woodbury. All the kids there. Carl. Judith. The world is far from fuckin dead, Daryl. There's still hope. It's our job t'protect their little asses, t'keep this world going no matter how fucked it is. And with one of the two most dangerous threats gone someone could get this world going again. Maybe just a town, or a city, or a state, I don't fuckin care. They cured other diseases before and there was always something or someone who made it possible. I've always tried t'help others and save people's lives. And 'm sorry if ye don't care about other people, but that won't change a fuckin thing cos I do."

"I care about _you_ , alright?" Daryl spat and Connor pressed his lips together, just staring back at him. The hunter ended up having the same reaction like every single time when he couldn't believe something was happening because it was so _ridiculous_. He started walking up and down the office and looked at Connor every now and then. He suddenly let out a frustrated snort.

"Yeah, you're right. I don't give a rat's ass about anyone anymore. My brother was a tough son of a bitch, but even he died. So how high are the chances for those little rugmunchers to survive shit? Carl, Judith. Just think 'bout what happened t'Sophia. People who are pretty much dead already anyway don't need no cure. So here yah got your answer: the world _is_ fucked. Even Dale got that before he died, and he was all about optimism and your righteousness bullshit. And we don't care 'bout others anymore, because they either die, or they get yah killed. You only care about your own, just like they do. You're gonna die for absolutely _nothing_ , and that's just stupid. You really think that when you die, they're gonna find a cure and give it to everyone? Bullshit!"

The two men were yelling so loudly that they feared soldiers could enter and interrupt their fight,   
but even that wouldn't keep them from yelling at each other, because they were both so furious,   
so desperate to cling to something that mattered to them.

"Oh, fuckin great! Everything is fucked, the world is dead, everyone dies, bohoo.   
Then why'd ye cause all the fuckin drama about the possibility of me kicking the bucket as well?"

"Because I fuckin need you!" Daryl yelled as loud as he could and then there was silence. Connor looked rather surprised by the answer, hated how his friend would play this card right now. But he was too tired, of everything, of their constant fighting and back and forth, the endless terror and the endless struggling of surviving and dealing with the fact that there was no hope. He knew that his friend could be right about the cure, that he couldn't do shit if he was dead and those people right here decided to use a possible cure as privilege without him wanting that, but that just made him bitter.

Because he knew that in the end it would always be like that. He was immune to the disease, and it was still absolutely _worthless._ Daryl made it worthless. The world was fucked. Too destroyed, there were too many enemies out there, and he was lonely, he was nothing without Murphy, because even with the cure he still couldn't bring his brother back. Because even if they managed to cure everyone and restore the old order - nowhere would be a good enough place without his twin brother. He gritted his teeth because he hated his friend for that, how he kept playing his fucked up games with him, toying with him, fucking him up, and getting all possessive of him as soon as others tried to do it.

"Do you?" he asked and stared back at Daryl, not really buying it.

He took a deep breath and then turned around again before his friend got to answer.

"Doesn't matter. Cos all these people out there need me a lot more than you right now."

Daryl just stood there, still incredibly tense, angry, and desperate. It felt like a stab to his heart, because he understood what it really meant: _others are more important than you_. And here he had it yet again: the absolute proof that it had never really been about him, that Connor would always be selfish and fixated on what his brother would have wanted. He swallowed hard and clenched his fists.

"That ain't true" the hunter said, but Connor wouldn't say anything to that, so he kept going.

"I got no one else" he went on, and the Irishman turned around to look at him for a while.   
He looked hurt by these words, like he honestly regretted his decision, but then he suddenly smirked.

"Remember what ye told me back on the farm? That ye don't need anyone and that ye work best on yer own, and that I'm the one that needs you ta survive and not the other way round? I think you and I both know that it's always been that way. Ye were just fine before we met. I wasn't."

"That was before.." Daryl said but couldn't finish the sentence. He just clenched his fists and pressed his lips together because he just couldn't say it.

Connor snorted and looked away again.

" Yeah, well. Just like I said. Doesn't matter what's goin on. Nothin in this world is more important than this fuckin cure. That's what everybody's been looking fer and it would be stupid t'be selfish about it. I wasn't fuckin raised liked that" he murmured and the hunter had enough. He thought that it was incredibly cruel of his friend to really say that, to suggest that he was less important, that after everything he had done for him and after everything they had been through he would always be second best. Second choice. Second. Second. Second.

But even with that knowledge he still couldn't let Connor go, still needed him, because after losing Merle and feeling that much pain because of it, he certainly didn't want to feel that ever again. And just for a moment his brain replayed that night when the Irishman had been bit for the first time, what it had felt like to lose him. It had nearly ripped his heart out and crushed him, although they hadn't even been that close back then.   
  
He knew that really losing Connor this time would practically destroy him and make him a shadow of what he could've been. So there was only one solution left. The only thing he knew that would keep Connor here, even if it wasn't him, even if it was going to crush him and tear him to shreds. He'd rather lose Connor to someone else and know that he was still alive than have some of these bastards potentially kill him.

"He's still alive" he said and Connor turned around with a curious frown on his face.

"Who is?"

Daryl didn't answer for a very long while. He swallowed hard and looked at his friend, and part of him just wanted to knock him out, throw him over his shoulder and drag him out of this place that wanted to kill him. But he knew that it was too late, that he needed to pull his through, and so he did.

"Murphy" he said and the Irishman paled. He stared at Daryl with intense eyes, fists tight, jaw clenching.

"Listen. I know that ye don't want me t'do this. But yer not dragging _him_ int'this. I'm not stupid, and it's pretty fuckin rude of ye t.." Connor said with a croaky and yet angry voice, but the hunter wouldn't let him finish."I ain't lying!" he spat because he was fed up with everything, because he was so desperate and wanted his friend to believe him. He knew it sounded ridiculous, he knew it was bad timing and that it sounded like a cheap attempt to stop Connor, but it was true and he wanted his friend to get that.

"Are you really this stupid? Can't you connect all the dots? Bob told us. Immune kid who got bit. Your age. From up north. Then people here start talkin to me like they already know me. Smith fuckin told me, alright? He was right here, in this building, and I think I kinda understand now why he ran the fuck away. I bet they wanted to do the same shit to him as well, but it looks like your bro is a whole lot smarter than you and saw right through this bullshit. Smith told me that your brother thought they wanted to kill him, and so he ran. And we should do the same if we're..."

He didn't expect the sudden outburst from his friend, and startled when he was suddenly grabbed by his shirt and shoved against the next closest wall.

"You're the one talking bullshit! He is _dead_!" Connor roared and pressed him against the wall.

"You weren't fuckin there, you didn't see all the fuckin blood, you didn't hold his cold fuckin hand and blew his brains out with a gun. I was standing _right_ in front of him. I pointed the gun right at his _head,_ I hit him with a bullet and watched him fall. There's no fuckin way he survived that and don't you DARE lie to me about my brother and drag him into this bullshit!" he spat and then let go of Daryl, eyes filled with nothing but disgust and hatred, although the hunter wasn't really sure who he was hating right now: himself or him.

"It took me a damn long time t'come to terms with this shit. He is _dead_. So don't fuck this up fer me now" Connor said and then rubbed his mouth with his arm, trying to calm down, but his heart was still pounding in his chest.

He couldn't believe that Daryl could be so cruel and lie to him like that. He'd thought that his friend knew how much it still hurt to talk about Murphy, his death, how much he really blamed himself for everything he had done, and this just added up to everything even more. He wanted to make Murphy proud, he wanted to help people, he wanted to save others from experiencing the same shit he'd gone through the day his beloved twin had been bit. He had told Daryl before: he wanted to die a hero. He didn't want to be torn to shreds one day, or watch Daryl die, or anyone else. He wanted it to end, to be good, he wanted to go out with a bang.

And he was so angry with his friend right now that he couldn't stand his face, his fucking terrible lying face, and he needed to get out of here.

"He's never been here, I'm doing it, and that's my final say. Like it or not" he said and turned around to head for the door.

Daryl watched him leave, and for a moment he wanted to react to it the same way like he'd always done: stand there. Say nothing. Let Connor do whatever the fuck he wanted because he was so angry. He wanted to brood and be mad at his friend just so they could apologize and laugh and have a couple of beers later, but then it hit him: their time was really running out. Connor was going to get himself killed because he wanted to, and this was the second time in their relationship that he needed to cut a rope, to keep his friend from doing this because he didn't know what he was supposed to do without a friend and brother.

"No, wait, I _swear_ t'you. I ain't lying, man. Your brother's still alive and we can go look for him if you just use your stupid brain for once and stop and think" he said and followed his friend, trying to grab the back of his shirt, but Connor moved out of his reach and kept walking.

"And I said I ain't buying it!" the Irishman spat, grabbed the door handle to open the door and leave.

Daryl stopped walking when the door was slammed shut right in front of his face. Then the anger took over, the frustration, the hatred.  
He dug his fingernails in his palms and gritted his teeth but wouldn't go after his friend, wouldn't say anything.  
He just stood there, unable to do anything at all.


	17. Sacrifice

"Put these on. You're coming with us" they told Daryl and shoved the military uniform to his chest.

The hunter looked down on himself, frowning, utterly confused by what was being said.

"What?" he asked and looked at the man in front of him.

"We got a mission. Boss wants you to come with us. Pull your own weight during your stay here " the soldier said,   
but Daryl just stood there, not believing what was being said.

"What?" he asked yet again, and the soldier shoved him hard.

"Put these clothes on! That's an order!" he said and grabbed his weapon without really aiming it at Daryl,   
to make it very clear that he was supposed to listen to him.

"You gonna stand there and watch, you freak?" Daryl asked with an angry frown as he took a closer look at the clothes.

"We've gotta meet up downstairs in t minus 10 minutes. Hurry" the soldier said and tried to get rid of Daryl's shirt to make him undress faster, which totally freaked the hunter out. "Fuck off!" he spat and fought the hands off, chest heaving, pupils dilated and breath hitching. He started undressing himself on his own just so the soldier wouldn't touch him again. The man placed himself by the door and folded his arms in front of his crouch while staring at the opposite window.

"Why's gotta be me who helps you stupid people? Ain't got enough of your precious soldiers?" the hunter growled as he got rid of his pants so he could put on the new ones he'd been given.

"Professor Smith thinks the lack of a reaction from the infected near you could give us advantages in the field as soon as we get inside the facility."

Daryl frowned at that and looked up.

"Facility?"

The soldier looked at the hunter and nodded.

"Professor Smith needs us to get back to university hospital to gather specific medical instruments that he needs for a surgical intervention.  
And we need someone to sneak inside even with the infected blocking our path. And that...would be you. Now hurry."

Daryl froze right on the spot yet again. He finally understood what was being said, and it absolutely horrified him.  
He wasn't freaked out because of the possibility of facing countless walkers, it was the reason that turned him into stone.

Medical instruments for a surgical intervention.

He was supposed to get the instruments that were going to kill Connor.  
He stopped putting the clothes on, refusing to do anything like that.

"I ain't going with you" he snarled and gave the man opposite a look that could kill.

The soldier came closer and really pulled his gun this time.

"Yes you are" he stated and pointed the muzzle at Daryl's head, but the hunter just snorted.

"Or what? Yah gonna kill me? Would be a pretty stupid move, considering that yah need me."

"This is my last warning, smartass" the soldier snarled and kept coming closer, but Daryl stood his ground.

"Listen, _smartass_. Whatever yah think yer doing..I ain't gonna join your little murder club."

"I said put these clothes on! That's an order!" the soldier yelled as loud as he could.

"And I said screw yah!" Daryl yelled back, still refusing to do anything he was told.

And this was enough to send the other man over the edge. Without a warning he suddenly buried the grip of the gun in the hunter's face, nearly breaking his nose while doing so. He then grabbed Daryl's arm and used it yank and turn the hunter around, which nearly dislocated his shoulder and made the younger man yelp in pain. Daryl kept struggling and cursing, but didn't really stand a chance because the soldier was well trained and knew what he was doing.

The hunter didn't expect the sudden blow to his lower chest that happened right then and there, which forced all the air out of his lungs and made him see stars. Daryl could hear the sick crack of one of his rips and then his upper body was forced down on the table. He gasped when his body got filled with nothing but pain as the soldier pressed his arm to his back and then forced his entire weight on top of him, to press his face on the table and whisper in his ear.

"I can break every single bone in your body. Every bone that you don't really need for this mission. Believe me, I know how to make this painful for you without actually threatening your life or rendering you useless, boy. I wish I could say I got all day for this crap, but I'm glad t'tell you that I don't even need five minutes for that. Now get. dressed" the soldier said quietly, almost calmly, and then shoved his head against the surface of the table, which made Daryl's nose ache even more. For just a second the hunter was completely paralyzed because this sudden violent behavior still reminded him of his past, how his father had mutilated and hurt him over and over again. He still tried to fight back and started yelling like a madman, but the soldier was too strong and knew exactly what he was doing.

Tears shot to Daryl's eyes because of the throbbing pain in his face and ribs, and maybe it wasn't just because of that.  
  
Everything was _so_ fucked.   
  
Connor didn't believe him, and now HE was supposed to get the murderous things that were going to seal the fate and kill his friend because the fucking asshole wanted it to be that way. And not just Connor was forcing him to do it and get it, now everybody else was forcing him to do it as well. He knew that he was going to lose this fight, and although he was pretty much giving up inside he still tried to stay strong on the outside.

"Fuck you" he gasped and sniffed when he felt how blood was starting to escape his abused nose.

As soon as the soldier let go of him he moved away from the table and winced, because the broken rip sent a hot wave of electricity and pain through his entire body. He was pretty quick and eager to get away from the table, and he gave the soldier the most hateful glare he managed to come up with. And then it dawned on him.   
  
He knew that he wouldn't stand a chance against them in here, but maybe they were right about his advantage with the walkers out there. He didn't know how he was going to use his escape from here, whether he was going to use it to get out of Augusta like Connor had told him to, or if he was going to use it to kill the asshole who had just violated him.

No matter what he was going to do, he just knew that he was going to use this opportunity no matter what. The hunter gritted his teeth and then got rid of the rest of his clothes, so he could put theirs on, look like one of those soulless bastards that were trying to kill his best friend.

* * *

Connor sat on top of the flat roof and watched the children play and draw suns and stickmen on the floor.  
The sun didn't really shine today, which was why they could be up here. It was even a bit windy, the perfect kind of weather to stay outside.  
He snorted gently and shook his head.   
  
_The perfect kind of weather to stay outside and enjoy the last day of your fucking life_ he thought and blew some smoke in the air.

He was still scared. That was true. Everyone who said that they weren't scared of dying was a freaking liar. But this was exactly the reason why he decided to stay up here and watch the kids. They were the reason why he was doing this, he tried to remind himself. They were innocent. They were worth fighting for. Not a dead corpse. Not a rotting corpse in Boston, someone who had died a year ago.

Connor swallowed hard and turned his head to stare at the skyline of Augusta.

_He's still alive._

_Who is?_

_Murphy._

_He was right here, in this building, and I think I kinda understand now why he ran the fuck away.  
I bet they wanted to do the same shit to him as well, but it looks like your bro is a whole lot smarter than you and saw right through this bullshit._

It wasn't true.  
Couldn't be true.

He was still incredibly mad at Daryl. He couldn't believe that his friend could be so cruel and lie like THAT.   
He could've told him anything, but not...

The Irishman cleared his throat and shook his head with an angry frown. He hated his friend for saying this, because now he couldn't stop thinking about it. He'd seen a couple of news reports and documentaries about it. He knew that some people had survived headshots in wars. He remembered the terrible images of some people, with half of their skulls and brains missing after a terrible accident. People, who had been fine.

It couldn't be true.

 _Murphy, coming at him, growling, bloody, drooling, not answering._  
  
"Fuckin stop walking like that Murph..please..."  
  
But Murphy kept coming.  
  
"Please tell me ye remember it..please tell me ye remember me...fuckin don' be like them..."  
  
He was sobbing, Murphy was only a few footsteps away from him, but he kept coming, staggering, wavering and reaching out, heading right for the gun.  
  
"I love ye Murph" he sobbed and aimed at his brother's head. Another blink, and there it was.  
  
The recoil of the gun, the loud BANG, the sound of a skull cracking, blood droplets spraying everywhere,   
the brutal thud of a body falling to the ground, and then nothing.

Connor took a deep breath and clenched his healthy hand to a tight fist.

Murphy was dead. End of discussion.

And he wanted to be with him.

No more heartbreak. No more loneliness. No more rejection, no more pain.  
Just salvation, and the knowledge that he would save a whole bunch of people with his death.

He looked up and swallowed yet again.

_Probably._

Connor took a long drag on his cigarette, felt how the smoke filled his lungs and then exhaled with a gentle, pleased moan.

 _There better be cigarettes in heaven, Murph. Hope ye didn't smoke all of 'em while ye were up there without me ye little bastard_ he thought and stared up at the sky. But there it was again, the lingering question: _what if he wasn't up there?_ Connor gritted his teeth and shook his head. _Ye gotta believe._

"Hey, how you doing?"

The Irishman startled and looked up, only to see one of the nurses hovering above him.  
He believed that her name was Elizabeth, although he couldn't really remember. He knew that he had spent some time talking to her yesterday evening, but truth was that he'd been more interested in Ninja Turtles. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed that he had her breasts practically in his face because of the way she was standing in front of him, although he was pretty sure that it was unintentional. She gave him that friendly smile yet again. Maybe she was interested in him, maybe she wasn't. He couldn't really tell.

So many options, so many opportunities.

He knew it could be easy for him to get to her. He had his Irish charm and his looks on his side, and he certainly knew how to kick the ball in a woman's park. And he also knew that she had to know -something- about this place, about this immune kid that had been here before him. Then there was the other positive thing to it: she was a woman. He could get information, and maybe even more if only he wanted to. He even kind of considered it for a moment, simply because there were many reasons for that.

This could be his last night on Earth, just like he was the last MacManus on this Earth.  
Then there was the more obvious reason to it: yes, he was religious, but he was also a man and it had been far too long.

And then there was the most important reason to it, the one he would never admit to, would never speak out. He knew how Daryl was going to react to that, possessive of him that he was. He knew the kind of look on his friend's face that he saw whenever he was close to a woman. And he had been rejected last night, no matter how stupid and wrong the idea had been. He'd attacked Daryl like that because he considered this his last nights on earth, because he wanted comfort and near, because he was so close with his friend and sometimes wanted to be even closer.

He knew he didn't love him. He knew it was wrong anyway, but this way it was just selfish, but he didn't care. Their relationship had never been about love, what anyone wanted or what was healthy. It had always been about hatred, about need, about hurting and destroying each other with wrong and harmful things, and maybe that was just like that. He wanted to make Daryl suffer for the rejection last night. He wanted him to be jealous, he wanted him to see him with her, and wither in his own grief and anger because he had spoiled that opportunity for the both of them.

He just kept looking at the woman, suddenly needing the near, the intimacy, but also needing all the information she could give him.

So many options, so many ideas, so many possibilities.

_Flee from sexual immorality. Every other sin a person commits is outside the body, but the sexually immoral person sins against his own body. Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price._ _So glorify God in your body._

Words of wisdom.

He swallowed hard and shook his head while raising it, so he could fix his eyes on her face and her face only.

"'m good. Elizabeth, isn't it? How you doing?"

The woman smiled back at him and sat down next to him, wrapping her arms around her bent legs.

"I'm fine" she answered and the both of them watched the kids for a bit.

"The professor sent me up here to let you know that he wants to speak to you" she informed Connor, who took another drag on his cigarette and nodded.

"About tomorrow" she went on and the Irishman tensed a bit, not really liking the topic.

He wouldn't say anything to that, he just watched the kids.

"They told me that you want to do it" she kept talking and suddenly took his hand, which startled the Irishman a bit and made him look at her.

The woman took his cold hand in both her hands and looked him in the eye.

"I just wanted to let you know that we all think that you are very, very brave."

Connor snorted gently and looked away again. She let go of him, sensing that he didn't really like the touch.  
They got back to watching to the kids until the woman spoke yet again.

"You should've seen the little ones before you two came here. A couple of weeks ago when we had to move and pretty much lost everything."

They both watched how Ethan tried to draw on Emma's face with the chalk.   
The boys were laughing as the little girl struggled to fight them off, but then even she was giggling.

"They couldn't really understand what was going on, but they could feel it, and it was having pretty much the same impact on them.  
Emma's mom committed suicide because she thought all hope was lost."

Connor eyed the little girl closer. He had not suspected any such thing, considering the fact that the girl was still smiling and sometimes laughing.  
She was quieter than the other two kids, that was true, but he'd had no idea about another suicide.

"We're a family. We stick together. But it was hard. Very hard when we lost that case before you.   
So...thank you" Elizabeth said and looked at the Irishman yet again.

"Thank you for being so brave and not running away. You've got no idea how much this means to us, how long we've waited for someone like you after..." she took a deep breath and then looked away. Connor had listened to her talk and he felt sorry for them, but there was a part of his mind that kept drifting whenever she talked about the past, the immunity case before him, the possibility that...

_He's still alive. He was right here, in this building._

Connor stopped watching the kids play and turned his head to look at the woman.

"Who was that kid? The one before me?" he asked and the woman turned her head to look at him.

There was something in her eyes that told him that something was weird, but he couldn't quite put a finger on it.

_Maybe yer overreacting and see shit that's not there again._

He tried to tell himself.

_The gunshot, Murphy falling to the ground with a hole in his head._

_He's still alive._

Connor shook his head with an angry growl but kept looking at the woman, needing answers.  
Elizabeth turned her head and avoided his gaze, which made him feel even more uncomfortable and distrustful.

"We didn't know much about him."

"Well, what was his name?" Connor asked, eyes piercing the woman, never letting go.

She swallowed and then turned her head again to look him straight in the eye.

"His name was David. He was a bit younger than you, I think. A walker bit his hand. He came all the way down here from New York. A soldier from a refugee center brought him here but got shot by the thieves that own most parts of the city. He got ambushed and lost his friend just before we got to him" she explained and then watched the kids once more.

She kept talking after a longer pause.

"He told us that the zone he hid in after the bite incident got slaughtered by military men. He was very traumatized and wouldn't tell us much because he couldn't trust anyone after that. Terrance, one of our guards, accidentally grabbed him the wrong way and freaked him out. He thought we were going to kill him like the other soldiers back in New York."

Connor frowned.

"I thought they bombed New York t'shit when the outbreak reached its height there?   
When I passed te city on my way down here there was nothin but smoke."

Elizabeth sighed and moved her hair behind her ear.

"Well, he was either lying to us or there's a part of New York that was still intact" she countered, and Connor frowned.

The story sounded plausible but he was still having a hard time believing it, although he supposed that it was all Daryl's fault.

 _The possibility of parts of New York still bein intact sounds a whole lot more plausible than yer brother surviving a horrible bite and headshot_ , he tried to keep telling himself, because really. It was -stupid- and insane to believe that Murphy was still alive. He had kept telling himself that for months, and it had nearly destroyed him because he had almost lost his connection to reality.

 _The grey_ _ **Boston**_ _skyline all around them._ _The walker. Biting his_ _ **neck**_ _and tearing flesh out._  
 _The gunshot. The hole in Murphy's head. His brother's cold and unmoving body next to him.  
Him holding a cold and stiff hand and crying and crying his fucking eyes out._

Murphy was **dead**.

_He's still_ _**alive** _ _.  
Who is?  
 **Murphy**_ _._

_Are you really this stupid? Can't you connect all the dots? Bob told us. Immune kid who got bit._ _ **Your age**_ _._ _ **From up north**_ _._ _He was right here, in this building, and I think I kinda understand now why he ran the fuck away. I bet they wanted to do the same shit to him as well, but it looks like your bro is a whole lot smarter than you and saw right through this bullshit._

Connor squeezed his eyes shut and moved his fingers through his messy blonde hair.

_His name was_ _**David** _ _. He was a_ _**bit younger** _ _than you, I think.  
A walker _ _**bit his hand** _ _. He came all the way down here from **New York**._

His head was spinning and pounding because of all the information, and no matter how hard he pulled on his hair, the headache wouldn't go away. He didn't know who he was supposed to believe. It wasn't the first time Daryl played mind games with him. And it certainly wasn't the first time his friend tried everything to fuck him over mentally. _Who was lying? Who was telling the truth?_ It honestly looked like his friend had just said those things to keep him from doing the surgery.

Because Daryl was selfish, broken, fucked up, abusive and obsessed, because he would never let go of him, even if there could be cure. Daryl just had to be lying. _But what about the woman, this group of people?_ He didn't know them. They wanted his blood. They could be telling him anything to keep him here. He would do the same if he were them. Everybody wanted something from him, his blood, his body, his friendship, anything but wanting him to be happy, to be healthy.   
  
_So who was telling the truth? Who was lying? What was true? What was wrong?  
_  
 _Dead. Alive. Dead. Alive._  
Murphy. David. Murphy. David.  
Boston. New York. Boston. New York.  
Hand. Neck. Hand. Neck.  
Immune. Immune. Immune.

He groaned and tried to think of something else, but there were hardly any nice memories,   
anything he could hold on to that could make him happy right now.  
He startled violently when Elizabeth placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"You okay?" she asked and his head snapped back up.

"Yeah" he said with a croaky voice, not able to hide the emotion, the confusion.

He didn't even know what he wanted anymore. He had come to terms with Murphy's death. He had accepted it, he had learned to live a life of his own. But he still didn't know what he wanted. _Did he even want him alive?_ Of course he wanted that. He missed Murphy more than anything, and because of that he wanted to die, which was why he wanted Murphy to be dead as well. His brother being dead would make the reunion easier, he wouldn't have to live with the knowledge that his twin might still be alive but he wouldn't be able to find him. He wanted him dead. Because this way, a reunion was only a couple of final heartbeats away.

But there were other things he wanted as well and that confused the crap out of him. He hated Daryl for everything he kept doing to him, but he loved him because he needed him after Murphy's death, he wanted him here and he wanted him to get the fuck away from here, leave him alone and give him peace. He needed comfort right now and he didn't know who he wanted to comfort him. The warm woman next to him, his twisted friend, his dead brother...

_Too much information, too many choices, too many decisions._

He sniffed awkwardly because his mind kept spinning, and then he forced himself to get back on his feet.  
He needed to get away from here. From the woman, from this place where he'd learned and thought about too many things at once.

"Let's get t'this professor of yers" he said and tried to sound all cheery and relaxed, but this time he couldn't really hide the fact that he was a trainwreck right now.

* * *

Saying that the hospital was creepy would be the understatement of the year. Daryl was an grownass man. He was living in a world that was filled with walking corpses, but even he had to admit that this freaking hospital had to be one of the creepiest places he had ever seen. Every single horror movie he'd ever seen could have taken place in here. The only place that could match the creepiness had to be their old prison back at Woodbury, but the hospital was even more creepy, dark, smelly, bloody.

He hated places like this, places that had been filled with walking corpses first. People had abandoned the hospitals pretty early during the outbreak, because they were the worst, hell on earth. Everyone and their mother had brought bitten patients to places like this, bitten patients who had turned in masses, overwhelmed staff, turned them, eaten comatose and old people in wheelchairs alive. Even now he could still see the corpses on the ground, the blood, because no one had ever cleaned this place up. There had been no one left to clean up. Quite the opposite. Most hospitals had either been bombed or sealed, either destroying the corpses or keeping them inside forever.

One of the soldiers had told him that even the thugs from outside never dared step a foot inside this part of the hospital complex.  
Because it was dangerous, dark, and creepy as hell.

Out of all the people who were on this mission it was Daryl who had to carry the list of the things they needed to bring the professor.  
He thought it was some fucked up irony, a constant reminder, each item on his list mocking him.  
 _I'm one of the things that are going to slice Connor's brain up. I'm going to kill him. And there's nothing you can do. Ha. Ha.  
_ Daryl gritted his teeth and wanted to rip the piece of paper apart.

He still didn't really have a plan, that was the bad part about the entire mission. Connor had always been the one to plan things, an escape, a kill, anything. But Connor was exactly the point. Daryl was absolutely desperate by now. He had tried escaping. In his mind, at least. Turn his back on the group of soldiers, run, because he knew that they weren't really interested in him.   
  
This was the easy part, planning wise. He could just turn around, run, hide, and get back to Woodbury. To Carol, to Rick, to little asskicker. Back to his group, the people he had met back in Atlanta. He could go back to them, forget about Connor, pretend that he had never even met him, that he had never spent the past couple of months with another man, a friend, an addiction. Escaping was easy. Living with it was not.

Because he knew that if he would leave Augusta now then he would blame himself for the rest of his life. Connor would die then and it would be his fault because he would have done nothing to stop it. It was pretty much the same as going in there and doing the surgery himself. He knew it would be healthier for him, to get out of this dependent relationship, to get out of the emotional chaos, but he couldn't do it.   
  
Connor meant too much, and although he sometimes considered the possibility of killing him (the sick, dark part inside of him that still hated the Irishman because he was so goddamn annoying, that wanted to get out, that wanted to destroy his friend just so no one else could have him) he would never be able to do it.

Daryl wanted everything to change. He wanted to go back, save Connor from the surgery, never find Murphy. He wanted to stop the fights, the beatings, the insults, he wanted a second chance for the night before, he didn't want to push him away anymore, he wanted to change everything, cling to his friend, tell him the truth, because despite the fact that he still had the Atlanta group Connor was actually the only person in his life that kept him from being lonely. That kept him from breaking after Merle's death, the only one who made him a better human being, the only one who saw right through him, saw who he could be one day.

Which was the reason why he had decided not to leave Augusta. He was going to save Connor, no matter what. But at the same time this was the hard part. He had no idea how. He was pretty much right in the middle of the group of soldiers, because they still didn't trust him. There were six men with him. Heavily armed. Ready to scout and kill. And although he was pretty much wearing the same gear as them he still knew that he wouldn't stand a chance against them. But he had made up his mind.

He needed to kill them.

Keep them from getting the instruments.  
He needed to delay the surgery, make it impossible, buy more time so he could convince Connor not to do it,  
so they could get the hell away from Augusta together.

He just needed more time.

Daryl let his gaze roam through the dark corridors and rooms to their left and right. Scanning reception tables, abandoned beds, wheel chairs, searching for anything he could use to get out of this mess. The entire team was heading for the ICU, hoping to find everything that was on the list. Every now and then they would hear a distant groan, the shuffling of feet or the cluttering of a falling piece of equipment. They knew they weren't alone in here. Sooner or later the walkers were going to show up, all the undead that had been locked in here ever since the outbreak had started.

The team had entered the hospital over a board, through a window on the second floor, since they were pretty certain that the ground floor and basement were filled with walkers. They had heard them after all, even seen them. The leader of the team of soldiers had made it pretty clear that they were supposed to be as quiet as possible, and Daryl had stuck to their rule because the place was so creepy, because he didn't fancy dying in a shutdown, overrun hospital when he needed to save his friend. He did stay quiet, until realization suddenly hit him like a truck.

They were hurrying down the corridor, getting closer and closer to the intensive care unit, closer and closer to the murderous instruments. Another reception, another bed that was toppled over and lying in their way, with the soldiers desperately trying not to make too much noise. It was then when Daryl noticed a table by the left side of the corridor. A table with loads of strange medical bottles still standing there, waiting to be used by ghostly doctors that would never return.

The bottles were made of glass.

_Professor Smith thinks the lack of a reaction from the infected near you could give us advantages in the field as soon as we get inside the facility._

_Advantages in the field._

Lack of a reaction from the infected near you.

 _The walker was lying right on top of him, staring at him and grabbing and pinning him, but he did nothing but sniff and snarl. Daryl stared back at the undead with wide eyes and watched him sniff at his throat, face, clothes. He did anything but bite him._ _The fight was going on all around him, inside the prison, outside the prison, by the cars, he could see Michonne and Beth from where he was lying, but for some reason the walker wouldn't attack him. Just like Connor._  
 _  
_The bottles were made of glass.

Glass meant noise when it scattered into a thousand pieces.  
Noise attracted walkers.

They were walking right past the table when Daryl made the final decision.

He knew it was stupid, he knew it was dangerous, but this was his only chance to fight the soldiers,   
to return back to the building by the river on his own.

Without the medical instruments. Without soldiers.

The hunter walked to the left, careful not to make the others notice. He hooked his left leg underneath the table while making his way past it, to make it look like he had just stumbled. He yanked his foot forward and got what he had aimed for. The bottles shook violently with the moving table, then they lost their balance, falling to the ground, breaking into thousands of glass splinters.

The noise was deafening in such a quiet, abandoned building, which was exactly what he wanted.  
For just a moment all the soldiers froze right where they were, turning their heads and giving him an angry glare.

"Fuck, sorry, sorry" the hunter cursed loudly and stepped back.

It was a fake apology, and he only used to make even more noise.

"Shut up. SHUT UP" one of the soldiers whisper-shouted at him and grabbed him by his shoulder to yank him away from the glass, but it was already too late. They could hear them down the corridors, the roaring wave of undead, staggering meat. Attracted by the noise, ready to rain down upon them, ready to tear, kill and eat. "Get a move on. Go go go!" an other soldier shouted and they started running, towards the door that led to the ICU.

His side was stinging with every step that he took because Daryl's rip was broken, but despite the pain he still had to smile. He had done what he wanted, they were coming, he was pretty sure that there was hardly a way out of this hospital except for the way he had entered the building. It was just a matter of time until the undead would come, and although Daryl still feared them himself he still just had to smile even more. For the first time they weren't actually his enemies, they were his allies, the ones who were getting him out of here like a secret, undead rescue team.

One of the soldiers kicked the door to the unit open and the team entered it with their guns raised. Daryl pretended to do the same, but he wouldn't keep an eye out for the undead, he was waiting for an opportunity to turn on the soldiers who forced him to do this, to be part of this, to assist his friend's murder.

"Alright, Terrance, William, Henry, you search the left side of this corridor. Michael, Abraham, you search the right side with me. You" the man said and then pointed at Daryl with furious eyes. "Stay put and don't. Fucking move. You stay here and kill strays. Bout time you show how useful you little shit are around walkers" he said, and despite the anger Daryl could also see fear in the man's eyes.

And maybe he regretted his plan a bit.

The hunter wasn't a bad guy. He was far from it. And he certainly didn't like killing or scaring people.  
He remembered everything Smith had told him about these people, this group who was looking for a cure and had lost hope more than once.

And fuck.

He didn't even know if any of them were the fathers of the other two kids.  
He'd been watching movies with them the night before.

He gritted his teeth and nodded, staying close to the door as the other soldiers started running to search for the things they needed. The unit wasn't that big and there was another bunch of stairs down the other side of the corridor, but judging by all the sudden noise it sounded like the entire hospital was alive now. Or more like undead. They could hear terrifying snarls and growls all around them, hurried, clumsy footsteps, coming closer and closer to the spot where he had dropped the bottles.

Daryl swallowed hard and watched the men move about, now ignoring their 'be silent' rule. They were shouting commands, collecting things and searching drawers and beds as they desperately tried to find everything in time. Then he heard the first loud scream, coming from the far end of the corridor. A minute later the double door at other end of the unit burst open, revealing all the undead bloody monsters that had been piling up on it. The screams of the men were deafening, and it obviously sounded like the first soldier was down.

Daryl bit his lip hard and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, suddenly regretting everything, turning into _this_. Betraying a whole group of men just like that, sealing their fate and killing them without actually killing them. He kept his eyes closed for a moment and tried to rewind time, to come up with a better plan, a plan that would save Connor without having to kill other people. But of course. Rewinding time happened only in shitty cartoons. Like in Ninja Turtles. The cartoon he had watched with them less than 24 hours ago. It was so grotesque.

More screams. Gunshots, and the banging of a door right in front of him. He knew that thedoor on his side had been opened by the undead who were streaming inside, entering the same way they had used just minutes before. The screams were bone chilling, the typical gut wrenching yells that escaped a man's mouth, a human being that was eaten alive because of him. Daryl kept his eyessqueezed shut just for a second longer as he tried to come to terms with the slaughter he had initiated, the dinner bell he had rang. But then he remembered everything, why he was doing it, why he had come up with the whole thing.

 _They're gonna cut me open t'get to the brain stem, where the virus is located,_  
and there's a pretty high fuckin probabilty that it's either gonna kill me,   
or fuck me over and make me a cripple.

The pain he had felt during these first couple of hours, during these first couple of minutes when Connor had shown him his very first bite. When the Irishman had collapsed, when he had carried him back to the group. When he had held his hand through fits, when he had watched him convulse and scream and suddenly stop. Those couple of minutes he had spent thinking that Connor was dead. He hadn't been able to take it back then, and he sure as hell wouldn't be able to take it now.

_Merle's cold cloudy eyes staring at him, the blood on his shirt, the utter utter pain,  
the violent crying fit, the knowledge that someone he loved was dead._

He couldn't take another death.

_The soldier, breaking his rip and bending him over the table, hurting him, just like his father,  
threatening his life and breaking and hurting hurting hurting._

Daryl clenched both his fists and made a decision. He could still hear the screams and gunshots, but he tried to ignore the pure screams of agony. They were all like the guy who had put a hand on him like that. They had all broken his rip, forced him to come. They were the ones who wanted to take Connor away. They were like the Governor. The very man who had killed his brother. And now they wanted to kill his best friend. They were evil. They were all Governors.  
They _deserved_ to die.

Daryl clenched his fists even more and got determined enough to open his eyes and face the massacre. He startled violently and even let out a surprised shriek when he saw the bloody figure of a woman was standing right opposite him, on the other side of the corridor, staring at him with wide, cloudy and dead eyes. Her bloody hands were twitching, the blood was dripping from her bespattered mouth, her long blonde hair hung in her face like dirty, wet curtains. Her blue hospital gown was also covered with blood, her feet bare and blue from the cold.

She was just staring at him, breath raspy and disgusting, and when she noticed that he was looking right at her she suddenly staggered forward, closer and closer to Daryl, who tried to back off but winced when his back connected with the wall. It was just then when the hunter finally realized how insane his entire plan had been. He was _surrounded_ by the undead. There had to be at least one hundred of them all around him, some of them kneeling on the floor, feasting on the dead soldiers on the ground with loud and disgusting slurping noises.

The woman was different though. She kept coming, closer and closer, and it was then when Daryl noticed that he didn't have a weapon on him. The soldiers had never given him one because of their distrust. He pressed his back against the wall and waited for her to come closer, so he could kick her away and make her lose her balance.

But much to his surprise the female walker was faster. She was standing right in front of him within the blink of an eye, face right in front of his, only to move closer and closer, until she moved it next to his head, closer to his neck, as if she was trying to embrace him, kiss his neck heatedly like a long lost lover. She wouldn't bite him, she just hovered there and sniffed on him like a dog, like she didn't know what to make out of him.

And then he heard it, the gentle, croaky whisper, a dry throat that was desperate for water, blood.

 _Helllpppp ussssss,_ she croaked,the s hissing, scaring the crap out of Daryl.

There it was again, the sick connection with these monsters. Whatever Connor had pumped inside of him, he didn't want it, didn't want to hear it, see it, feel it.  
The mentality was fucked up, and although it was keeping him alive right now he still hated it more than anything.

She tried whispering to him again but Daryl was fed up with it.   
He knew that she wasn't really talking, but there was a herd mentality, a connection, he just didn't want it.

"Get off!" he growled but not too loudly, fearing that the other walkers would get interested in him. The undead woman stumbled backwards and then finally seemed to lose interest in him, because she staggered towards the others, to the pool of blood and fleshy fresh corpse of a soldier, who had stopped screaming by now. Daryl tried to catch his breath because he was so freaked, so disgusted, so panicked and full of adrenaline because he was the only one alive in this entire freaking hospital. It still freaked him out how they wouldn't attack him, and even though they wouldn't he still wanted to get out of here as fast as possible.

He pretended to stagger around and even did the groaning thing so he could get a helmet and weapon from one of the soldiers, careful not to touch any walker or make them interested in him. As soon as he got the equipment he staggered towards the exit, the door, back to where they had come from, and even though he knew that he shouldn't he still started running.

He wasn't just running because he was scared shitless, he also did it because he knew his time was running out.  
He needed to get Connor out of there before they suspected anything, before they threw him out for getting the soldiers killed.


	18. Pictures

"I've asked you to come here so we uhm,...can discuss tomorrow" Smith said and Connor looked at the man.

Once again he found himself sitting in the chair opposite the professor, listening to scientific talk he couldn't really understand. Didn't want to understand. He was still having a hard time. His mind kept racing, back and forth, back and forth, contemplating what he was supposed to do, who he was supposed to believe. He knew that asking Smith would be useless. They were so close to his precious surgery, and Connor was pretty sure that the man would say that Murphy was dead. No matter what. Whether it was true or not.

He still didn't know who was right. Connor just nodded, feeling defeated, confused and tired. He wondered where Daryl was, because he knew that he didn't just need to discuss tomorrow with Smith. He needed to talk to his friend about the surgery, maybe say goodbye. He just didn't want them to part like that: angry, with a shitload of things left unsaid. They needed to change that.

"…anesthetic, and open the skull with…."

The Irishman turned his head and looked out of the window, not really wanting to hear any of this. Not once in his life had he ever been in a -proper- hospital with -proper- doctors. He'd spent most of his life either living through pain and illnesses because they had been poor, or Murphy had taken of his wounds with simple household remedies and utensils. Which was the reason why he had never heard someone say so many medical terms in one freaking sentence. He could speak many languages and understood some of the words because they were Latin, but even with all this knowledge he didn't understand shit.

"…sent your friend to…" Smith went on and Connor suddenly listened up.

"..w..what?" he asked and shifted, now paying attention because he knew that this was about Daryl.

Smith looked at him in surprise, obviously confused by Connor's previous lack of interest.  
But the Irishman was there now, looking at him and listening.

"I sent your friend to gather the required medical instruments. He's on a run with our scavenging group right now."

Connor widened his eyes and sat up.

"You sent Daryl out there. Without telling me" he repeated, panic suddenly rushing over him, big brother mentality kicking right in.

"Relax. Our team is…"

"Where te fuck is he right now?" the Irishman interrupted the man and looked out of the window, as if he was trying to make out his friend, no matter how high they were above the ground.

"University Hospital. It's alright. They've been gone for about half an hour now.   
It won't be too long and he'll be right back. Safe and sound."

Connor was still far from relaxed and gave Smith an angry frown.

"Safe 'n sound my fuckin ass. 's the same spot where we got ambushed when we got here" he said and got up.

"'m goin after him" he said and wanted to turn around, but Smith grabbed him by his arm and stopped him.

"No. You won't even make it past that door and you know it" the Professor said and Connor looked at his arm, only to glare at the man.   
He knew that he was right about that, but this didn't mean that he liked it.

"If something happens t'him…." he growled angrily as he sat back down, but Smith wouldn't let him finish.

"Your friend is going to be just fine. He's still having the same affect on the walkers as you. And he's going to have that for about another month if my calculations are correct. We can't have you wander around the outside now that we're so close to a possible success. We need you fit and unharmed for surgery."

Connor did sit back down, but he was now far from being calm.   
He was fidgety and couldn't believe that those bastards had separated him from his friend.  
And now they were really trying to keep him here.  
 _  
I think you and I both know that it's nat really my decision.  
_ _You go in there, they ain't lettin you out._  
He's still alive.

He frowned when the professor's words suddenly sunk in.

"Another month? What'd you mean?"

Smith started turning pages in his file and scratched his forehead.

"The effect that your blood has on your friend's system is fading. It's a natural progression, a reaction. The tainted samples that cause his….invisibility to the walkers, so to say, are fading and dying, his own immune system sorts them out, if you want. Sooner or later all the traces of your blood will be gone. But not yet. The concentration is still high enough to provide this special sort of protection."

Connor raised an eyebrow.

"Meaning?"

"Sooner or later your friend's body and the make up of his blood will go back to normal. Back to the dormant, undetected state of the virus. Attacks from the infected will be likely again. Which makes him uninteresting for our research whereas you.." he said and pointed at the Irishman with his pen.

"Your infection is far too advanced. Way too far from what we call a 'normal' infection. The bites resulted in the complete transformation of the make up of your blood. Your system adapted itself to the virus' characteristics. Or some of them. Without showing actual symptoms like the aggression, the hunger, cannibalism... My latest tests show that a permanent adjustment to this new state of being is very likely. Permanent protection. Permanent masking instead of a temporary one as we can observe with your friend."

Connor snorted and turned his head.

"Can't be so permanent fer me then, considering that yer probably gonna gut me t'morrow" he said bitterly but tried to focus on his task, on his vision.

"But we could recreate this state in our labs."

There was silence for a while, until Smith let out an exhausted sigh and went on.

"Anyway" he murmured and started turning pages again.

Connor frowned when he noticed how the man would always try to keep him from looking inside the file as well.  
It wasn't like he was interested in that medical nonsense talk, but it made him rather curious and suspicious.

"What's that, then?" he asked and pointed at the file.

Smith looked at him and then shifted uncomfortably.

"These are…just my notes. Everything about this disease. Ideas, numbers, links. Test results. Medical issues...  
Just… scribblings. Really" he answered and started writing again.

Connor watched him with sharp eyes, noticing how the man kept clutching to the file the entire time.  
The sheer amount of papers in there made the whole thing even more suspicious.

_He was right here, in this building._

"That's a lot of pages" he noticed, and when Smith raised his head to look at him Connor rewarded him with his best 'innocent' smile.

"There's a lot to be discovered about this strange disease" Smith answered and swallowed.   
He pointed at the Irishman yet again. "We're writing a new chapter in the history of modern medicine after all."

Connor smiled even more, sensing that this was his chance.

"Aye. Ye better make it a damn good book. 'f always wanted t'be the hero in a great story" he said and the man opposite nodded slowly, honesty showing in his eyes.

"You will be. Trust me. You're doing this country - no, actually, make that humanity- a great service."

Both men looked at each other, and when Connor noticed that the professor was just about to keep talking about the surgery he interrupted him and leaned forward.

"Can I see yer findings? What ye've written about me so far?" he asked, but Smith moved faster than lightning, making the whole thing even more suspect.

"No.." he said way too fast and clung to his file.  
Connor raised an eyebrow. Smith, sensing his mistake, shifted and tried to be more relaxed.

"It's just…it can be rather disturbing for you. I'd rather not..upset you with this. This is some very important, precious information about a very ugly disease. I won't let anyone touch this file because we can't have any of these notes missing. The results could be…" he sighed and shook his head.

"Anyway. Back to tomorrow. We can provide a…" he was interrupted yet again when a soldier suddenly ripped the door open and entered the room without asking first.

"Professor, we need your help. Right now. There's been an incident in the lower sections" he said and then looked at Connor for a moment, only to face the other man again. He waited impatiently and right by the door, hoping that Smith would join him right away. Smith sighed and looked at Connor.

"Do you mind?" he asked and the Irishman shrugged.

"Knock yerself out" he muttered, sensing that this could be his chance.

The Professor got up from his chair, with the file safely tucked away between his arm and torso. Just like Connor had suspected.  
The Irishman fixed his eyes on the yellowish paper, mind racing, trying to figure out what to do. He knew that this could be his only shot at this.

He just needed to know.

Smith walked around the table to get past him and headed for the door.

_He's still alive. He was right here in this building._

Connor pressed his lips together, and decided that this was it.  
Smith was right next to him when he suddenly jumped up, while placing his foot right in front of the walking man.

"Actually, lemme help Ye. Pull my own…holy shit! Sorry!" he said, a fake apology for what he had caused. The exact thing he had wanted. Smith stumbled because he had tripped him up, sending him flying to the floor. The professor lost grip of his file when he used both his hands to protect himself from the impact.

"Sorry, sorry" Connor said and watched the file fall, the notes, charts and pictures slipping out of it and flying around because of the air circulation that was caused by the open door. It took Smith a moment to recover from his fall, as the soldier rushed to his aid and tried to help him up. Connor used the time to kneel down and take a look at all the loose papers. There weren't just notes. Writings. Numbers, tables and charts. There were also X-rays. Drawings.

Pictures.

Lots of pictures.

He picked some of them up, hands shaking, breathing stopping.

In all the pictures that he held there was no face. Not once. He could see hands. Arms. Shoulders.

Neck.

Head.

Not once did he see a pair of eyes. Or a nose. Or a mouth or the face in its entirety.  
But the truth was that he didn't need to see it to recognize the person in the pictures.

There it was, the terribly ugly scar, the wrinkled reddish skin around it.  
A bite wound, on a right shoulder. The shoulder wasn't his, and yet there it was - the same tattoo, on a very pale, abused neck.

Connor grabbed the next picture in horror.  
The picture of another wound.

Forehead.  
Circular.  
A visible small dent in the skull.  
A long, healed cut, a scar from an operation just below the dent, a scar that was reaching from the person's left eyebrow to his temple.  
Operated bullet wound.

A raven black fringe.

Connor could hardly breathe, but something forced him to keep going, to look through the pictures in a hurry, only to stop at one last picture.

Skinny, pale fingers.  
Hardly any fingernails left.  
Visible dark veins along the right thumb, but that wasn't important.  
What made the picture so distinctive was what he could see on this hand, on the finger, unmistakable, unique and defining.

_Aequitas_ _._

Connor could no longer kneel, he couldn't even hold the thin pictures anymore. They slid out of his hands, and he still wasn't breathing, and for a moment it felt like his heart stopped beating as well. It felt like a train hit him at full speed, catapulting him against a concrete wall and breaking every single of his rips because of the sudden pressure to his chest, the shock.

He was only vaguely aware how Smith moved about next to him, ripped the pictures and papers out of his hands and tried to drag him away from the file, the ground, but Connor wouldn't react, couldn't react. Couldn't _breathe._ Smith wasn't fast enough with his cleaning up, he could still see a couple of pictures, more of the bite wound, profile shots, pictures of the bullet wound, pictures pictures pictures, and tiny glimpses of raven black hair.

The tattoos were everywhere, unmistakable, but not his own. He saw the _Aequitas_ picture once more and then reality finally crushed down on him, made his heart beat violently, his breathing sped up, his hands started shaking. He was going into shock and he knew it, but he couldn't function, didn't know if he was supposed to laugh or cry, he was just…petrified.

Daryl had been right.

He was everywhere, in these pictures, these Xrays and notes.

_Aequitas._

Murphy.

Murphy was alive.

"You weren't supposed to see that!" Smith yelled, suddenly losing his cool, panic and shock obviously showing in his eyes.

He was petrified, but not nearly as shocked at Connor, who kept staring at the ground with wide eyes, breathing heavily, trying to adjust to the new information. The entire past year had been a _lie_. He had never been alone. Murphy -wasn't- dead. Never had been. He was still here, on this Earth, with him. No heaven, no peace. His baby brother was out there. Somewhere. All on his own. Without him. With no one to protect him.

And then there was the sudden other realization, the part that hurt so much that he wanted to scream, because it was driving him insane.

The scar. The dent.

 _He_ had caused that wound. He had shot his brother. Murphy had been alive when he had turned his gun on him. He had caused _Murphy_ pain. He'd left him all alone. In this filthy apartment in Boston. With the undead surrounding him. Terribly injured, starved, thirsty, with no food, no medicine. He had stripped him of his rosary. His guns. He'd shot his twin brother and left him to die.

Connor tried to stay calm, to keep his cool long enough so he could trick the professor, his soldiers, everyone until he could escape.

There was no way he was doing this operation. No way he was going to die. Fuck the cure and every last human being, child, baby or woman on this Earth. He didn't care about humanity's wellbeing anymore. He didn't care if someone saved these people or not. He would do anything, accept anything and live through anything. As long as he found Murphy again.   
  
Because Murphy had and always would be his main reason for everything. Living. Fighting. Protecting. He needed to find Murphy. Protect him. Explain, apologize, wrap his arms around him and never EVER let him go again. Even if that meant that he had to face an entire office block filled with soldiers, even if that meant that he had to search every town, every forest, every city, village, field or state in America.

He needed to find him.

And when Smith finally swam into view and tried to drag him out of this room he knew that the men knew this as well.

_You go in there, they ain't lettin you out._

"Let me go!" he roared, ignoring his previous cunning plan to get out of here by tricking them.

He started kicking and boxing and yelling, completely losing it because his brother was _alive_ , and these people wanted to kill him.  
They dragged him out of the room, away from the file, the pictures, out into the corridor as he kept yelling and fighting.

* * *

Daryl was running up the stairs, breathing heavily, heart beating in his chest and ready to jump out. His side stung from the broken rip, but that didn't matter. He needed to get back up there. Grab Connor, get him out of here, before these fucks managed to separate them and kill his friend. It was too late now. He had done the inevitable, there was no turning back. He had been the only one to make it back from the hospital, playing an act, he'd even covered his face with blood and told them lies.

 _They need your help. You need to get back there._  
 _I need to give this to Smith. I really need to talk to him._  
Go back to this hospital. They need backup.  


And they had been so stupid to believe him. Only two men had guided him back inside, to the weapon chamber, and it had been way too easy for him to overwhelm them. Another two soldiers, killed, because they had left him no other choice. They were locked inside the weapon chamber, which no one could open anymore. He had destroyed the key, rendered the lock useless by breaking the key inside. No one would be able to get anymore weapons to fight them, and he had theirs back. His crossbow, Connor's guns. He had stored his beloved weapon in a broom chamber downstairs because it was too obvious, because he needed his cover.

Daryl was still wearing their uniform. Jacket and vest that protected him from bullets. Riot helmet which made his face pretty unrecognizable, Connor's guns, safely packed away in holsters. He had been the one to cal the incident in, to keep his cover up, not to make them suspicious why he was running around with an assault rifle.

Just in case.

He was willing to do ANYTHING right now, although he still tried to stay low for as long as he possibly could.  
He even thought about escorting Connor right out of here, to look like he was one of them, to overwhelm them just like before.  
He just needed more time.

Daryl was completely out of breath when he finally reached the top floor, the very last flight of stairs. Pretty much everyone was up here on this very floor, which he definitely wanted to use. He slammed the door to the stairs shut behind him and had a look around. He couldn't really see anyone right now, because the stairs were at the far end around a corner. He didn't like doing it, but knew that this was the only way to get out of here without them coming after them. Too soon at least.

_I had a small group chase him._   
_They followed him all the way down to Savannah before we lost contact..._

They were going to follow them. Follow Connor.

Daryl had one final look around and gritted his teeth.

"Son of a bitch" he muttered, because he couldn't believe that he was really doing this.

There were kids and women up here. But this wasn't about them. It was about Connor. He pressed his lips together and then grabbed the chains and lock he had stolen from the weapon chamber, so he could wrap it around the door handles and lock the door to the stairs. Daryl looked at the key in his hands and then put it in his vest with an uneasy sigh.

_This was going to be 'fun'._

Oh how he was going to kick the leprechaun's ass later. He couldn't believe that this dumbass really made him do something so stupid.

" Let me go!" he heard his friend roar somewhere on the other side of this corridor.

He turned his head abruptly to see where the noise was coming from.  
It sounded like there was a fight going on, with his friend right in the middle.

"Let me go, ye can't force me t'do this shit!" Connor yelled and Daryl clenched his fists.

"Oh no, you didn't" he growled, hatred and sheer anger rushing over him.

His friend was in trouble. He could hear it. Everything was falling into place, escalating, spinning out of control.

Daryl grabbed his rifle and started running, around the corner, only to nearly run into another soldier. He huffed but decided not to say something. The soldier hardly looked at him and kept running towards Connor and the others, and despite the whole wrongness of it all right now Daryl still had to smile. The uniform did it. They thought he was one of them. Anti walker/disturbance unit. Ready to protect, to kill. He ran after the other soldiers, careful to stay behind them so they wouldn't grow suspicious, heart beating faster and faster.

He could see Connor by the far end of the corridor, right in front of the large window front that was facing the river. The Irishman was struggling violently as three soldiers tried to hold him down. Smith was standing there with a syringe, talking to him, pleading him to calm down, but whatever had freaked Connor out, it kept him going, struggling, fighting, and yelling.

"He's alive and ye knew it ye fuckin bastards!" he roared and Daryl suddenly froze, realization hitting him right in the face.

Connor knew it. Connor believed him. And now he wanted to get out. No convincing needed.

No surgery. He just needed to get him out of here. The Irishman was still kicking and fighting but would look at all the soldiers every now and then, and since Daryl was standing behind them he decided to take this chance. He lifted the visor of his helmet up and watched his friend fight, and it took Connor a whole while to catch glimpse of him.

"Let go of me or I swear…" he roared and then suddenly trailed off, staring at him with wide eyes.

Daryl nodded and then placed a finger on his mouth, to let his friend know that he was supposed to keep quiet about him, that he was supposed to keep fighting so they would concentrate on him, not Daryl. The hunter grabbed the visor and pulled it back down. Connor nodded slightly and resumed the fighting. "Fuck you!" Connor yelled and kicked extra hard, hitting one of the soldiers right between his legs. The man groaned and toppled over, causing an uproar amongst the other soldiers.

And this was all Daryl needed.

"Intruder!" he yelled as loud as he could and turned around in an abrupt motion, drawing his rifle and aiming it at…thin air. He did get the reaction he wanted, most of the soldiers grabbed their guns, and the multiple clicking of safeties could be heard. They all turned around and followed his motion, and Daryl knew that he needed to use this moment to distract them from Connor, so his friend would get a chance to free himself. He started walking, back turned on his friend, and tried to lead them away.

"Think I saw him run inside the cafeteria!" he yelled and tried to alter his voice, so that it wasn't too obvious. Some of the men followed him and this pleased him, although he now had to admit that he didn't have a clue how the fuck he was supposed to get out of here when he had multiple sharp rifles pointed at his back.

What he didn't expect next though, was the sound of three gunshots.

Everyone turned around abruptly, including Daryl, to see what had happened. As soon as he was facing the window front again he could see Connor standing there, gun in his hand, one soldier lying on the ground, and Smith, who was holding his bloody arm with wide eyes. Connor had obviously shot him to keep him from using the syringe, or holding him down. The Irishman was standing all alone there, silly handgun pointed at the countless soldiers, who were responding with their rifles - which they now pointed at Connor.

"Put the gun down!" one of the soldiers roared, and Daryl just stood there, completely petrified, actually terrified. His friend was now facing the muzzles of MANY sharp weapons, and he wasn't sure about those people, if they were still going to shoot him, despite his immunity. Smith was groaning and gasping in pain as he pressed his back against the wall, trying to nurse his bloody arm as he was staring at Connor with wide eyes.

"Please, we're so close. Don't ruin this for all of us" he was actually begging the Irishman, who just stared at the soldiers. Daryl was surprised that his friend's hands weren't shaking, because it was a scary situation indeed.   
  
There was no way out, he practically had his back against the wall, soldiers with guns standing opposite him, and even Daryl couldn't help him right now. They were outnumbered and they certainly couldn't shoot their way out of this mess. And as soon as they both decided to surrender Connor would be forced to do the surgery no matter what, and they were either going to kill Daryl, or throw him out And both men knew it.

Daryl wanted to call out, tell his friend what to do, but truth was that he didn't have a clue.  
He was just standing there, watching the scenario with wide eyes.   
Connor then fixed his eyes on him, because it was easy to identify him.  
He was the only one who didn't point a gun at the Irishman.

"Put the gun down right now!" a soldier yelled but Smith interfered.

"Don't hurt him! We need his…"

"Shoot his arms! Or legs!" another soldier roared and Connor pointed his gun at the man, only to walk further back, until his body connected with the window behind him. He turned his head for a split second to look back, chest now heaving until his breathing suddenly calmed down. He fixed his eyes on Daryl yet again.

"I gotta find him" he said, nodding, eyes piercing with sheer determination and then everything happened within a blink. Connor turned around as fast as he could and pulled the trigger another two times. The bullets hit the windowpane hard and made it crack into a thousand pieces.   
  
They heard the sudden loud howling of wind and the banging of doors down the corridors as all the soldiers started running at once, but the Irishman was faster. Without a warning he suddenly started running and jumped, through the now paneless window, causing everyone to cry out in pure horror. Within the blink of an eye Connor was gone, fallen out of the window, and less than 15 seconds later they heard the loud splash of water outside.

Daryl couldn't keep the terrified "NO!" in that escaped his mouth, and for a second he didn't know how to function, what was right or wrong, he just ran for the window with all the other soldiers, looking down at the brown waves of the river, but couldn't see anything.

Connor had disappeared in the rushing waters.


	19. Savannah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm playing with some toys (places and minor characters) from the Telltale Game from now on.  
> Since it's pretty much Walking Dead canon anyway.
> 
> I love that game very much and liked the idea of playing around with this place. Having said that: none of the major characters from the game will turn up in this fic. No Clementine, no Lee, no Molly. Just a couple of minor characters because I need them as plot devices so to say. And the thing takes place before the Telltale game events from the later Savannah episodes.

**53 days ago...  
May 5th 2009, 10:14pm, Savannah, Georgia**

He could hardly breathe, walk, or do anything, but still kept running. Murphy would turn around every now and then, to make sure he was not being followed, but whenever he turned his head he saw it: the headlights of a car, always close, always following him, no matter where he went. He had arrived here two days ago.

Savannah, Georgia.

He'd heard them talk about this place, multiple times, and whenever Smith or his precious little soldiers had mentioned this town and this district they had always sounded disgusted, like they honestly hated it. Which was reason enough why he wanted to stay here. There had to be a reason why they hated Savannah, why they hated Crawford, and the only possible solution had to be that the Augusta crew had enemies here. Enemies hated each other, and he knew that they were willing to do whatever they could to harm the other.

Like taking a refuge in. Someone Augusta really wanted.

Murphy really felt the need to cough because his bad smoker lungs were making it hard to breathe, but he knew he couldn't do anything like that. They were close, but it looked like they didn't quite know where he was yet. Those bastards had been following him ever since he had managed to escape the campus back in Augusta. Soldiers with guns and god knows what kind of other stuff they had to drag him back and do some more work on their precious little cure.

It wasn't like he didn't want to find a cure, to get rid of all these undead bastards and make the world a safer place. He just didn't want to die for it. He knew it was selfish, knew that it was mean. But he didn't trust anyone anymore. Didn't believe anyone, and he certainly wouldn't do anything for anyone anymore. After everything he had been through, everything he had lost and everything he had seen he certainly deserved to live. Certainly deserved some peace, and a minute to breathe.

"He's over there!" he heard a voice echo through the surrounding streets, and about a second later the beam of light hit him.

"Shit" Murphy gasped and jumped to the right, behind an overturned trolley car.

_He was so damn close, he couldn't get caught now!_

He stopped running just for a second, to catch breath and maybe find an alternative route, a small alley or a house he could use as a shortcut, just so the damn freaking car would stop following him. The younger MacManus twin couldn't really see anything, just the strange signs and scribblings on all the doors. Whatever it was, he hoped that it would bring closer to this Crawford place, that it would tell him that he was almost there.

"Faster! Don't let him escape! We need him alive!" he heard the same voice yell from somewhere behind him, and the car engine was getting louder and louder.  
He could also hear fast footsteps, like people had jumped out of the car and where now trying to chase him on foot.

_Fuck, it was a goddamn manhunt. He needed to get out of here._

Murphy took a deep breath and then started running again, ignoring the pain in his chest and throat because he was so out of breath. Days of running away from these soldiers, days of living in fear of getting caught, with little sleep and almost no food. He didn't know for how much longer he could take it. He didn't have a real plan, didn't have a real idea. He was relying on possibilities and other people, and he knew it was risky, he just didn't have any other choice.

He knew that he wouldn't stand a chance against them on his own. Even if he managed to take out a couple of them, there were too many, and he didn't want to risk getting overwhelmed and caught. His life literally depended on it, although he knew that they wouldn't shoot him, wouldn't cut or hurt him in any way. He knew that they would even give him food, let him rest, and although he really wanted that he also knew that it was just foul play. They were only doing that because they needed his brain, whatever was inside of him. It was like they were trying to fatten him like a turkey on thanksgiving. He didn't want that, so he just ran even faster.

"Go go go! He's slipping away!" the voice yelled again, and then the beam of light returned, hitting his back, no matter how fast he ran, how much he zigzagged or tried to hide behind cars, benches or the wall that surrounded the harbour. Murphy turned his head to the left, to see if there was a way out. He noticed Talmadge Memorial bridge, saw the boat wrecks, the general chaos all around the harbour of Savannah, and that's when it hit him.

The harbour.

He'd seen it on the map. Crawford was close to the harbour, the river.

He was _close._

"Change of plans! Shoot his legs! I repeat, shoot his legs. Just stop him from running and get him!" came the order from behind, and the dark-haired MacManus widened his eyes in shock.

_Oh no. Not bullets. Not again._

About a second later bullets started flying, hitting the pavement around his feet, which made Murphy jump and zigzag in a desperate attempt not to get injured. Panic was slowly rushing over him. He knew how much a shot hurt, and ever since Connor had….he squeezed his eyes shut when he remembered that terrible night. Even now he couldn't speak it out, not even in his thoughts, because it hurt too much, because it scared and terrified him. He was scared of the bullets, didn't understand why everyone was trying to hurt or kill him all the time, why no one was there to protect him from all this endless shit.

He sprinted even faster, lungs burning, eyes watering, heart pounding, until a breeze suddenly hit him right in his face, the terrible stench of rotting flesh. The searchlight of the car was still moving about the neighbourhood, the houses, the street, trying to find him, and it was when the light hit something in front of Murphy that made him widen his eyes in shock and come to an abrupt halt.

He was facing what looked like a wall, only that you couldn't really call it one. Countless bodies had been put up to a large pile of rotting flesh, a decomposing wall that was supposed to terrify intruders and keep them out. What made the whole thing even more disgusting and terrifying was the fact that he could see countless stakes, pieces of wood that had been used to impale walkers.  
  
Undead, that were being used as bait, beings, that were still moving and moaning, that hadn't been killed yet. The younger MacManus groaned and pulled his shirt up, to cover his nose so he didn't have to breathe the stench in any longer, but also because he was trying to muffle the sounds of his reaction, and because he also feared he might throw up.

It had to be Crawford. Their way of keeping the undead out, their way of keeping everyone out. He hadn't pictured it like that. Not at all. It looked like the place was just as nuts as the soldiers behind him, meaning only one thing: he didn't have anywhere to go. There was a wall of death in front of him, the enemy right behind him, the river to his left and houses to his right.

He was trapped.

Murphy turned around in horror, trying to find a way out, but he could see that the soldiers were close and getting closer still, ready to drag him back to Augusta, back to this godforsaken hospital where they were going to cut him open and kill him. Part of him just wanted to fall to his knees and cry because he was so desperate, but at the same time the whole situation just made him furious, because this had to be some sort of joke. He'd survived so much _shit_ that this just couldn't be it. He clenched his teeth and fists and turned around to face the wall again, contemplating the idea of climbing up the thing, or lying down and using the rotting bodies as a cover. Just…something!

"Where'd he go?! Find him!" the voice yelled and then there were more shots, as if they were trying to lure him out.

Murphy looked around in panic, head turning and turning and turning, until he moved both his hands up to his head so he could pull his black hair.

This couldn't be it.

The strange sound of something scraping along the asphalt somewhere to his right made him turn his head. He could see an alley to his right, between two houses next to the wall. His only chance. Before the beam of light could hit him again he started sprinting towards the alley, the one with the noises. He was about halfway there when he noticed what had caused the noise: a gully. Lying there on the street. A second later a head with grey hair popped out, revealing and old man who was staring at him with wide eyes, staring and waving.

"Hurry! Over here!" he whisper-shouted and kept waving, animating Murphy to run faster.

The younger MacManus didn't know who the man was or if he could trust him, but right now none of that mattered because the soldiers and the car were coming closer and closer. He sprinted and sprinted until he fell to his knees right in front of the hole in the street. The old man was staring at him, eyeing him head to toe, only to turn his head in the direction of the soldiers.

"You from Crawford?!" he asked with his croaky old voice, and Murphy shook his head as fast as he could.

Just like the old man he couldn't keep his eyes off the beam of light on the wall, that was getting larger and brighter by the second, signaling them that the soldiers were almost there. "No, please, ye gotta help me" he gasped, completely out of breath, not giving a damn about how pathetic he sounded right now. He was just tired of running, he wanted a place to hide, to calm down and come up with a plan.  
  
The man looked at him once more, as if he was contemplating something, which made Murphy's blood boil with rage. He wanted to yell at the man and call him an old bastard because it was taking him so freaking long to let him in, but he knew that it wouldn't be very wise to snap at the man who was supposed to get him out of this mess.

"Vernon?" the voice of a woman was coming from somewhere underneath the old man, who looked down to answer her.

"It's alright Brie. It's not those men from Crawford" he said and Murphy gritted his teeth.

He could already hear the footsteps around the corner, and knew that he was just seconds from getting caught.

"Listen, grandda, I don't wanna interrupt yer little chitchat, but those men out there are trying ta fuckin kill me!" he hissed and lost his temper, although he instantly regretted it. The old man named Vernon looked at him again and narrowed his eyes at him. For a moment it actually looked like he would just climb back down and not let him in, and Murphy's heart nearly skipped a beat.

"We can't find him, Sir!" a voice roared from somewhere very close behind him, and then Vernon finally started to climb back down.

"Okay. Hurry, close the door behind you and be quiet!" Vernon whisper-shouted and Murphy hurried after him, grabbing the gully on his way down, to pull it shut above him as quietly as he could. About a split second later he heard the voice of the soldier again, who had obviously made his way around the corner by now and was now walking around the street right above them. Both Murphy and Vernon froze on the leader and held their breaths, listening to the footsteps, the talking, and then..the cursing.

"Shit! He's fuckin nowhere!" the soldier cursed and walked around the alley, until they heard his feet right on top of the gully, where he froze. Murphy swallowed hard when he heard even more footsteps walking around the alley and its close surroundings, like the entire squad was now walking around right above their heads. The younger MacManus wouldn't move an inch, although it was getting hard to hold on to the slippery and stinking leader. He prayed to god that this Vernon guy and his woman Brie were smart enough to keep their mouths shut now, so they wouldn't give his location away.

"Looks like the little bastard managed to slip away. Again."

"This is all your fault!" another soldier yelled and then they heard how they started shoving each other.

"Shut up. Shut. Up!"

"No, I ain't gonna shut up. What are we supposed t'tell Smith? You just gonna 'shut up' about it?  
We're supposed to find this little piece of shit! We're five people, he's all alone.  
We could've caught him days ago! Just cos you had to go on a fuckin…"

"ShhhhH!" a third soldier interrupted the other two and just for a moment it was completely quiet. Murphy held his breath once again, fearing that his heavy breathing could give him away, now that they were standing right on top of him, so to say. All he could hear was his muffled and shaky breathing, as well as the exhausted and deep moans and groans of the impaled walkers outside.

"That's some creepy shit, man" another soldier said from somewhere further away, suggesting that he was standing right in front of the wall with said walkers.

"Shut up, I think I…." seconds later Murphy startled because of the sudden loud noise of countless gunshots.  
He could hear the surprised screams and "Holy shit!"'s of the soldiers, but within seconds the shooting and screaming abruptly stopped.

Murphy was really shaking by now, because he didn't know what was going on, who had attacked the soldiers and obviously mowed them down. He pulled a face and shivered when droplets of blood hit his cheek, seeping through the holes of the gully where one of the shot soldiers was obviously lying and bleeding out now.

"You got them all?" he heard the voice of another man, a stranger he absolutely didn't know and had never heard before.

"Positive. Just look at that. They have lots of gear. Oberson will like that"

"We should move" came the whisper from somewhere below Murphy, which startled him once more.  
  
He had forgotten all about Vernon because of everything that just occurred. The other men above them were still talking and moving stuff around, drowning Vernon's voice, and Murphy knew that this was their chance to get away from this place. He started climbing down the leader, careful not to make a noise, eyes fixed on the dripping hole above him. He didn't like climbing into complete darkness with two strangers , but anything was better than having to be up there right now. So he climbed and chewed on his lower lip because he was nervous, because he didn't know what was going on or what had happened in general.

Vernon certainly owed him one hell of an explanation.

* * *

**53 days later  
June 27th 2009, 2:57pm, Augusta, Georgia**

He was staring at the muddy water below, the countless waves that were rising and falling in a constant rhythm, but there was nothing there. Just water. Just the rushing and splashing. No body, no blonde hair, no blood and no limbs. Connor was just gone, swallowed by the river, disappeared, out of his sight. "Go go go! Downstairs! Get him! Split up in teams and go search for him!" came the excited commands from the soldiers, whilst Smith was walking away from his spot, rushing after his men, trying to talk some sense into them while begging them to get his beloved test subject back.

Daryl just stared out of the broken window, hands clutching around the window frame, glass splinters cutting his palms because he was holding on too hard. He couldn't believe that Connor had made that jump. The guy usually used his brain, usually came up with escape routes and plans, and although he could be pretty stupid and annoying, he hardly ever was so spontaneous, so incredibly…desperate.

He remembered the look on Connor's face, replayed it over and over again.

Now that he thought about it, whenever he had looked at his friend before…he'd always been dead. Joking. Yes. Laughing. Yes. Making fun of him and mocking him. Yes. But whenever he'd done that, whenever he'd seemed 'happy' and 'recovered' his eyes had always told Daryl a different story. Connor had always just done that to mask something, to hide the obvious, to keep himself going.  
  
Months of just dragging his body from one spot to the next, enduring all the pain, the walkers, Woodbury, their fights, his fists and insults, he'd always just taken it in. Just lived with it. Just to keep going, to keep his promise, but deep deep down Connor had always been….dead inside. Sliced up, missing something, something that Daryl had never been able to pin down. Or replace.

But then he'd seen that look on his friends face. He could almost hear Merle laugh at him and call him all sorts of sissy names because of that thought, but he didn't care. He could've sworn that he'd seen something change in Connor's eyes during those couple of seconds they'd looked at each other just before that jump. There hadn't been fear or terror because of all the guns, or the jump he'd planned. No, Connor had looked -alive-. Awaken from the dead. Come back to life, like someone had induced hope in his every fibre of being. Eyes gleaming with determination, not sadness and loneliness.

Seconds of seeing that change, but now he was just _gone_.

Daryl clenched his fists even more around the window frame, staring at those goddamn waves that had just…eaten his friend. He swallowed hard and turned around, facing the chaos that his friend had caused. He could see all the soldiers and staff, running around, trying to come up with a solution, trying to locate Connor through the windows, and then he saw the crew, the group of soldiers that was supposed to get the Irishman back.

They were heading for the stairs.

The ones he'd locked up.

He widened his eyes in horror when he finally snapped out of his trance. Yes, Connor was down there in the river, maybe drowning, but _he_ was still up here.  
Locked up with countless soldiers. People, who were obviously done playing nice.

His time was running out.

"Get down there! Get him back! Hurry!" Smith yelled, now completely beside himself because of the shock and fear of losing yet another test subject.

And this was when Daryl finally knew how to move his legs again. He grabbed his rifle and turned around to start running, using all the chaos and running about to get the hell away from here. He ran into a nurse but kept going, because he needed to get to their room, to get their stuff and make his way out of here. He was right behind the group of soldiers who was very close to the door he'd locked.  
  
They were only seconds from discovering that they were trapped up here, locked in with him, the very person who had caused this whole mess in the first place. It wouldn't take them too long to figure that out, he was absolutely sure of that. So he moved even faster and then disappeared inside his and Connor's room, to slam the door shut in a hurry. He got rid of the helmet and had a look around the room in panic.

Their bags were still there, he did have all the things they had taken from them to store them in the weapon's chamber. He did have everything he needed. Well, except for Connor and his crossbow, but he was working on that. Daryl caught glimpse of the couch his friend had used to sleep on just the night before, and after fixing his eyes on the door and hearing the excited screaming of the soldiers outside he knew that it was time to get creative. He grabbed the couch and started moving it towards the door, ignoring the sharp pain in his chest from the broken rip and healing gunshot wound. He could hear them outside, yelling at each other and trying to open the lock.

"Find that other guy!" one of the soldiers roared, and hunter knew that they were now onto him.

He managed to move the sofa in front of the door and the knocked one of the bookshelves over, just in time to stop them from breaking in. The hunter took a deep breath and wiped the sweat off his forehead, only to twirl around and grab his and Connor's backpacks from the floor. "What do I do what do I do" he muttered, panic slowly rushing over him. Time was running out. Not just because those soldiers were about to break in here and probably kill him, but also because Connor was still down there, lost in the stream of water.

"Shoot the door!" he heard them yell and widened his eyes in shock, throwing himself to the ground just split seconds before a hail of bullets rained down on him, piercing through the wood of the door and shelf, getting caught in the cushions of the sofa and the pages of the books that were still inside. For a good minute the soldiers kept shooting at the door, piercing everything around the office and breaking the window opposite. Daryl crawled to the left side of the door, right next to the sofa, chest heaving, waiting for them to stop and desperate to come up with a plan.

Shit. Connor was usually the one with the ideas.

He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed while licking his lips, trying to come up with anything his friend had ever told him.

More bullets, the breaking of glass, Connor falling out of the window and then his eyes suddenly snapped open, an idea striking him like lightning.

_See that window over there? 'm pretty sure that's te stair case. Seven floors, we're at te top floor, right wing of the building got te stair case at the far end with three rooms per side down the corridor. Probably offices like this one, not much space fer too many soldiers._ _And there's a fuckin rain gutter right there._

The fucking window.

"Cease fire! He ain't going nowhere. Now move! Get that door open!" a soldier on the other side of the door roared, and Daryl could even see them through some of the holes they had made. He knew this was his chance. He grabbed their bags and ran for the broken window, only to stop in his tracks and look down. Seven floors was freaking -high-. He could hear the wind blowing from up here.  
  
It wasn't like he was afraid of heights. He just didn't exactly fancy walking around a rusty rain gutter with hardly anything to hold on to. The other window wasn't too far away, the one that led back to the staircase. But still. He had to walk around a corner, keep his balance, and hope that no one would look outside a window and shoot him before he managed to get over there.

"Son of a bitch, this is crazy" he muttered and chewed on his lip, only to come to the conclusion that this was his only chance.

He leaned back inside and knelt down, to open Connor's bag and move all his stuff in his backpack instead. He couldn't go out there with two bags, and certainly not with a duffel bag. He got rid of most of their clothes excluding Connor's favourite shirt and his favourite jeans, and after moving their few personal things around he was finally good to go. He unloaded his rifle and put the ammo in his bag as well, only to throw the weapon away. It was too heavy and he wouldn't need it later, because his crossbow was still stored in the broom closet by the staircase. He grabbed his backpack and then made his way over to the window, only to get weak knees once again.

_It was a fucking crazy escape plan. Of freaking course. Only Connor could come up with something as shitty as this._

He moved his backpack until it was hovering above his belly, so it wouldn't be in the way during his climb, then he sat down on the window sill. He turned around once more to make sure that the soldiers were still busy with the door and wouldn't start shooting again. He was all alone with this freaking height and he knew it, and maybe this was the time to get going. Connor needed him after all, at least that was what he kept telling himself.

"You crazy fuckin bastard" he muttered and then moved out of the window, carefully placing his foot on the creaky rain gutter and testing it. He took a couple of short deep breaths and tried to stay calm, although he was far from it. Much in contrast to Connor's jump there was no freaking water below, just a dirty old street. Pavement, that was just waiting for his guts to be plastered with. He couldn't believe how Connor could possibly jump out of a window like that. It was freaking nuts. The hunter moved around, away from the window, back pressed to the wall as he was trying anything to keep his balance.

 _Just don't fall, just don't fall, just don't fall_ , he repeated in his head and startled when the rain gutter creaked once again.

 _Oh shit, it ain't gonna hold,_ he thought and widened his eyes. He tried to move faster and tensed even more, because the thing was really shaking by now. _There's no way 'm dying from falling down a freaking building during the freaking apocalypse of the undead_ , he told himself and gritted his teeth, moving his feet at a steady rhythm until he finally, finally made it over to the window that led back inside.

Daryl took a deep breath and looked down once more, just so he could remember the height later. Picture it, and call himself freaking nuts for doing this. He then reached for one of Connor's guns and used it to bash the window in, just so he could finally climb back inside the building. It was both good and at the same time weird to be back inside, because his legs were still shaking and he could hardly walk.

The hunter adjusted his backpack and put it back on his back, only to startle when another violent bang on the door could be heard. It was shaking violently and he could see a couple of holes from gunshots in there, and he was pretty sure that it wouldn't take the soldiers too long to get the door back open. He adjusted his backpack once more and grabbed Connor's gun just to make sure. He then started running, down the stairs, to get his crossbow back, flee the building and find his friend again, hoping that it wasn't too late for that yet.

* * *

It certainly wasn't the first time that he was falling off a building, but just because he'd done it before it didn't mean that he liked it. Just like the two times before the jump was necessary, but he hated what it felt like. The air in his belly, like there were too many bees flying around in there, trying to get out. He tried not to, but his instincts told him to kick with his legs and so he did, causing him to lose his balance a bit, and it certainly wasn't a graceful fall. The wind was screaming in his ears as he kept falling and falling, mind racing with just one simple thought:

_Murphy is alive. I need to find him._

He didn't get to think about anything else, because then it was already there. The impact, like his body was hitting hard concrete instead of water. For a split second he actually thought he'd hit a street instead of the river, but then he could already feel it, water, filling his mouth, his nose and his lungs. He hadn't been able to hold back the surprised and painfilled gasp that escaped his mouth when he hit the surface, and that had been enough for the liquid to enter his mouth.  
  
Connor coughed but got even more confused when instead of sound and air countless water bubbles would escape his mouth.  
He didn't know where up and down was, where he was supposed to swim or what he was supposed to do.  
All he knew was that his foot and calf hurt from the impact.

He had to admit: jumping out of the window had been a bit of a foolish move. Stupid in fact. Just like any other time he'd seen that one in countless action movies. Heroes, that did that kind of a jump and still looked cool, still got out of this mess without a scratch. Not once had the water looked so freaking hard, so alive, so moving and drowning and suffocating like the one he found himself in now.

The Irishman still kept swimming, feeling his wet clothes drag him down, the movement of the river dragging him further away. Up or down, he didn't even know anymore and it didn't matter. He just kept swimming, diving and moving, away from the building, towards his brother, although he didn't know where he was. None of that matter though, because Murphy _was alive_.  
  
His twin was still there, and he would move mountains just to find him. Connor managed to swim on for about a minute until the more basic instincts kicked in, the rational part of his brain rather than the extremely emotional one that was trying to stay in charge right now. But then he could feel it, the urge that was slowly forcing the need to find his brother away.

He needed air.

Fast.

The blonde swam even faster, desperate to find a way back to the water surface, because Murphy could be alive all he wanted, if he didn't survive this godless torrent then that wouldn't be of any use. He blew out some tiny bits of his last remaining precious air, to watch the bubbles float, to force himself to wait and watch where they would go, because they were always heading upwards.

His heart nearly stopped when he realized that he had been swimming in the wrong direction.

And now he really _needed_ air.

Connor tried his hardest to keep himself from breathing in, but it was a life-sustaining urge, something that he couldn't stop forever. And he swam faster and faster, but no matter what he did, no matter how fast he moved, for some reason the water surface was still too far away, and the movement of the river kept him from swimming straight up. The first accidental gulp, more water filling his mouth and lungs, and the disgusting feeling like he tried to drink and swallowed the wrong way. Connor started coughing violently, but that just made it worse, forcing the last bit of air out of his lungs and making it impossible to keep going, to keep swimming.

Another gulp, but he was so freaking close to the water surface, he could almost touch it.

Murphy.

He needed to find Murphy.

Although there was nothing left inside him he still kept going, swimming, fighting, although he was now practically breathing water, drowning himself.  
It didn't matter. He would keep going until his dying breath. He needed to keep fighting to get back to his brother. He had almost reached the water surface when his determined mind wouldn't break, but his body did. He did one final 'breath' of water, felt how the liquid kept forcing itself inside his lungs despite his desperate attempts to keep it out of there.  
  
He cursed himself for every cigarette he had smoked in his entire life, because he knew that without all that smoke and destroying his lungs he would have been able to make it. He kept struggling and swimming and reaching out for the water surface, almost like he was trying to reach out for his brother, but then his body just gave up, failed because of the lack of air, and everything went silent, everything went black.

* * *

His broken rib burned with every step that he took, every loud in- or exhale. Daryl kept running and running, eyes fixed on the greyish/brownish water surface of the Savannah river. He didn't have a clue where to look, if he could or should see him, if he was on this side of the river at all, but he didn't have any other choice, any other idea or any other clue what to do about it otherwise. He wasn't good at maths, or physics, or whatever you needed to calculate the impact of such a jump, or where exactly Connor had landed, but he trusted his instincts, and those told him that his friend had to get out of the river on the same side.

It just had to be like that, he couldn't explain it otherwise, because to him it was pretty stupid to believe that a slim body like Connor's would float across the entire river and land on the other side. And judging by the height of the building and the fall itself it should be pretty impossible for his friend to swim over there. He'd gained some muscles, that was true, but he was still a skinny asshole, a guy from a large city like Boston, who'd probably never really been inside such a large and natural body of water before.

But the river was exactly the problem. It was wide. It was long. It was wild and unpredictable these days. Countless people had drowned before. Prior the apocalypse. Grown ass men. Not just children. And even if Connor had managed to get out of there on his own, so many things could have gone wrong. He could've broken a couple of bones. Those thugs were out there. He'd seen them yesterday night. Then there were those soldiers, who'd probably managed to get outside the building by now, heading for the river, to get Connor back.

 _What if those bastards had been faster? What if he just couldn't find Connor again?_  
  
Augusta was a large city. They'd never come up with an alternative meeting point.  
Finding each other was going to be like finding a needle in a haystack. So many things could go….  
He tensed when he suddenly came up with another possibility, one that made his heart ache and his fists clench.  
__  
I gotta find him, he'd said. __  


_What if Connor had survived the jump without any broken bones, gotten out of the water and just left without him? What if he didn't need him anymore, didn't want to be with him anymore?_ He was a violent asshole, who hardly ever said how much he appreciated their friendship. And now his best argument was useless. Yes, so maybe he looked like Connor's brother, but that didn't matter anymore because Murphy was still alive. Like a better version of him.

_He didn't need him anymore._

Daryl ran even faster, because he didn't want it to be like that, because he didn't want to lose his friend, because he didn't know what to do without him, because it made him feel empty and alone. The hunter didn't get to keep spinning these thoughts around, because right then he saw it. A body, floating face down on the water surface, following the river's movement, floating past him, unmoving.

"No" Daryl gasped and started running towards the river, dropping his crossbow and backpack on the walkway, just before jumping into the water.

 _No no no no. He'd been fine just a couple of minutes ago._ _They'd seen each other just before that jump. Everything had been fine, so it couldn't just go to shit like that._ After the farm, the prison and Woodbury Connor couldn't just fucking _drown_ in a river. He swam as fast as he could, desperation taking over his limbs that were moving faster and faster, fighting the current and dragging his body over to his friend. Despite the hot temperatures outside the water was still freezing, soaking his clothes and making him shiver. When he finally reached Connor he grabbed him by his shoulders to turn him around, pressing his friend's back against his chest as he was trying to check on his vital signs.

"No no, come on man" he muttered and spat water that kept flowing in his mouth because he was having a hard time keeping them both afloat. The Irishman's eyes were closed and he couldn't feel him breathe, and what made it worse was that he knew that he couldn't do anything about it right here on the spot.

"You ain't dying or drowning, yah here me" he demanded and then wrapped an arm around his friend's chest, so he could move him back to the riverbank, away from the devilish liquid. His heart was pounding in his chest, his ears ringing from the exhaustion and the splashing water, and his broken rip stung his insides with every move that he made. None of that mattered though, because Connor wasn't breathing, because he wasn't talking to him or doing anything. It felt like he was dragging a heavy and lifeless wet doll around, but he didn't want it to be like that at all.

"Open your eyes!" he spat and gently kicked the Irishman during one of his swimming motions, but Connor stayed like that, unconscious, unmoving. It felt like it was taking him forever to get his friend out of the water, but when he did he was completely out of breath, exhausted and panicked. He managed to throw his friend back on what was left of the former river walk.  
  
He was rather rough because of the exhaustion, and it was the lack of a reaction from Connor that really worried him. His friend was just lying there on the ground, hair and clothes dripping wet and sticking to his body, his chest still and not moving like it should. It didn't look the Irishman had managed to break anything because of that jump, his neck looked alright just like his legs and arms, but he wasn't moving, wasn't doing anything.

"Oh no you don't" Daryl exclaimed in panic and then started pumping, hoping to get his friend to breathe, or spit out all the water. He was too hectic about it and his brain wasn't really functioning, because this was Connor lying there in front of him and not moving, the worst thing that could possibly happen. It was like back in the barn almost a year ago when that bastard had tried to hang himself, and just like back then there was no way he was going to let him suffocate now.

"Come on!" he spat and pumped harder, counting each pump until it was time to do the breathing part.

Connor's lips were cold, too cold and unmoving, and he still wasn't breathing, still wasn't responding.  
As soon as he was done with the breathing part he just got more furious, because this couldn't be happening.

"Come on, breathe you bastard" he snarled through his teeth, anger and fear fully rushing over him and making him pump even harder, to a point where he almost feared that he could crush his friend's ribcage. But he needed to keep going, to get all that water out, to get his friend to breathe, because there was no way he… Daryl gritted his teeth and shook his head, feeling the water drip down from his wet hair, running down his cheek and neck. They had managed to get out of this godforsaken place. There was no way that those people had still managed to _kill_ him.

"Breathe!" he yelled as loud as he could, right in the Irishman's face, until he leaned back down and crashed their mouths together to pump more air in his friend's lungs. Although the situation was hectic and all about life and death there was a part of him that was suddenly aware of the fact that their lips were touching, that it was different now because of what had happened last night. It wasn't like they hadn't touched before, considering that this certainly wasn't the first time he was trying to get Connor to breathe again.  
  
But still, things had suddenly changed between them, because of his way of thinking, because of his friend's actions, and part of him was terrified yet again, terrified, scared, angry, confused, and maybe a bit disgusted, because even after all this and the obvious caring he still didn't want any of this. Because it was wrong, because Merle and his father had raised him like that. But that wouldn't change anything about the way he felt, thought and acted.

More pumping and yelling at his friend, because now he was getting desperate.

"Come on" he repeated, over and over again, which each pump, head snapping back up every now and then to make sure that no one was coming to get them, to drag them back inside and probably kill them both sooner or later.

His ribs hurt, his arms hurt, and after what felt like the thousands pump Connor finally started coughing water, coughing and grunting and shifting because he had been startled awake, because he was back, and out of the water, shivering, freezing and breathing hot air that still felt cold. Daryl looked back down at him with wide eyes, chest heaving from the effort of having to run, swim and then breathe for two people at once. He let Connor cough for a bit, so his friend could properly breathe again, come back to life and realize what the fuck he'd done yet again, and before he got the chance to say something first Daryl was already back on him, and now he wasn't relieved or happy anymore, now he was just angry.

"You. fuckin. bastard!" he shouted and punched Connor's chest hard with every word, because he couldn't believe…

"Jumping down seven. Fuckin. Stories!" he said and kept hitting his friend, who winced and tried to grab his arms to stop the beating.

"Well it..fuckin…worked, didn't it" Connor answered with rhythmic coughs, still having problems with the whole breathing thing after the jump and nearly drowning in the river. And somehow Daryl's complaints and attacks made him grin, because now he was in that blissful post-adrenaline rush state, because the danger was gone, because they still had each other, because they were doing just fine.

"I fuckin hate you and your goddamn plans" the hunter snapped, still angry, still frustrated and heart pounding in his chest. It made him furious how Connor could just be lying there, underneath him like a half- drowned rat but giving him his dickish grin, like the whole thing had been fun or funny. Part of him wanted to punch the guy's face just to remind him that he wasn't allowed to be cocky all the time, and the anger certainly made his fists clench, but right then the other urge took over, because this was a 'heat of the moment' moment. He fisted Connor's wet and sticky shirt with his one hand while grabbing his messy wet blonde hair with the other, to pull himself down and crash their lips together once more.

Just like the other time before this was sloppy and nothing but angry. He didn't have a clue what he was doing or what he was supposed to do. But they were both running on adrenaline and he had no idea if he ever got the chance to do it again, with Murphy in the picture and his obvious 'no romance crap' and 'absolutely no guys because that's disgusting' rules.  
  
And he couldn't stop thinking about the ideas he'd set up, the resolutions, that everything was going to change, as soon as he'd made sure that this bastard underneath him was getting out of that research facility alive. No more beatings. No more denial, but trying to let him know what he -actually- thought and felt.

And here they were, post jump, post near death experiences, and he yanked his friend's hair even harder because he was so goddamn angry and frustrated with the freaking Irishman. But despite the obvious pain he was still trying to cause he was actually surprised that his friend responded to the more gentle gesture. He wouldn't pull away or protest, no, he was actually returning the kiss, although they could hardly call it one. It was the clacking of teeth, biting and maybe even a competition about who could take over and dominate the other. At the same time it was pretty obvious that Connor was more experienced than him, and maybe that embarrassed him a bit, but he didn't want to care right now.

He knew himself pretty well, knew that he was going to mentally slap himself for that move in about a minute, that he was going to shut down and pretend that nothing had happened, probably including another fighting Connor off and beating and yelling at him, should he try to do the same move any time soon. So he savored the moment for as long as he could, until they both finally calmed down a bit.

"Search the river!" they heard someone yell somewhere down the road and broke the kiss abruptly, wiping their mouths in a hurry only to turn their heads and see what was going on. They couldn't see any soldiers yet, and it sounded like they were far away, but certainly not far enough. Both friends were snapped out of their state within the blink of an eye, Daryl jumping back on his feet and Connor sitting up, both of them feeling sober and rational from one second to the next.

The voices reminded them of two distinct things, thinking about them at the exact same moment. Daryl was reminded that they still weren't out of this mess, that he needed to get his friend out of here and as far away from the building as possible. And it reminded Connor of everything he'd heard, seen and done back there, with the soldiers. He swallowed hard with wide eyes and then looked at Daryl, water still dripping from his hair and nose, heart beating faster all over again.

"I gotta find my brother" he said matter of factly, sounding both determined and yet terrified and frantic. Because the memory of seeing all these pictures was still too fresh. Daryl looked back at him, the reminder hitting him square in the face like someone had thrown a brick at him. There it was again. The ghost in the room. The monster under the bed that kept crawling out of its nest at every given opportunity.

_Murphy, Murphy, Murphy._

He automatically tensed and clenched his fists, frustration taking over, because their moment got destroyed just like that.

"Let's just get outta here first" he replied dryly, jogging back to his crossbow and backpack which he had dropped on the sidewalk.

It was then when he heard Connor hiss and curse.  
He turned around with a worried frown, only to see his friend standing there, with one leg cocked to save it from his weight.

"What?"

The Irishman tried walking but hissed yet again, cursing under his breath in a language that Daryl did not understand.

"I dunno, fuck, think I sprained me ankle cos of the impact" he hissed and Daryl raised an eyebrow.

"You gotta be kidding me" he answered and Connor's head snapped back up, to give him an angry glare.

"Do I look like 'm fuckin kidding? Jesus fuckin Christ" he muttered and still tried walking, half limping, half hobbling away from the river.

"Split up! Search the entire area!" they heard the soldiers again, and Daryl knew that they needed to hurry.

He cursed and adjusted his backpack and crossbow, only to run over to Connor so he could wrap his arm around his waist and help him walk.

"Wrap your arm around my shoulder and move" he grunted and tried running, dragging Connor along with him and forcing him to run way faster than he actually could. He tried to support his friend's weight as good as he could, half carrying him, half helping him run, and although he knew that it probably hurt the Irishman he forced them to keep going, just so they could get away before those soldiers got a chance to catch up with them.


	20. Something Old, Something New

**53 days ago...  
May 5th 2009, 10:42pm, Savannah, Georgia**

"This is Clive, Joyce and Boyd" Vernon stated and pointed at three elderly people who were hiding in the old morgue they were entering. Murphy followed the old man, nervously chewing on his thumbnail and watching the strangers with a frown. The others didn't exactly look that welcoming, just like Brie, who had spent their entire walk over here complaining about how Vernon shouldn't just let Murphy in like that.

The Irishman had been quite distrustful himself until now. During the past couple of months he had encountered far more bad people than good, but he thought that old people were always a good sign. Mostly. Although he still couldn't really remember much about his old life he thought that he'd known two elderly men, people who had been nice, who he had loved. He couldn't remember their names or their relationship though. Maybe one of them had been his grandfather, or even his father, but he honestly couldn't remember. Whoever they had been: they were the reason why it wasn't -too- hard for him to trust these strangers now.

As soon as they had entered the morgue Vernon shut the door behind him, giving Brie the chance to start complaining all over again.

"We don't even know where he's from or what's he doing here. He _could_ be from Crawford for all we know…" she said and Vernon walked past her, so he could walk over to the old lady called Joyce, who was lying on one of the beds of the former body refrigerator.

"He told us, he isn't from Crawford. You saw those soldiers chase the boy. None of these people were from around here."

Brie gave Murphy an angry look and pointed at him.

"You don't know that for sure, Vernon. You've seen what they've been capable of.  
It could be another one of their tricks to hunt us down.  
Kill us, steal our food, our medicine, our…"

"I'm from Boston" Murphy interrupted her, mumbling and chewing on his thumbnail, looking quite intimidated by the woman. It was like being a little boy watching his parents fight, although he couldn't remember his parents. He was too hungry and too exhausted to put up a fight himself, and it wasn't like he would beat or even put a hand on a woman or old people in general. He honestly just wanted to stay, crash for the night and maybe sleep for a bit.

"An I came here looking fer this Crawford place. I fled ta Augusta, but those people were a buncha crazies.." he tried to explain himself, reason with them. He then pointed at Vernon. "Ye saw them chase me with their guns 'n everything. I honestly swear that I'm not fram this Crawford place, cross my heart. I…" he swallowed hard and then fixed his eyes on Vernon. "If I could just stay fer the night until all of 'em are gone and I could…" he turned his head again and looked at sulking Brie.

"I could pull my own weight. You..you need anything? I came across a buncha stuff back at this hospital place here, I can get tha if ye need it. 'm good at that. It's how I survived this mess on me own. I'm fast and agile. I can help ye a lot, actually" he said and then nodded towards Joyce, who was obviously in much pain from something. "What's te matter with her?" he asked and tried to get closer, but once again Brie placed herself right in front of him to keep him from entering the morgue any further.

"Funny that. The hospital, you say. You think we wouldn't know that this place is completely off limits? Overrun with these…things. It's right on top of us, we've tried, there's no entering this place!" she turned around and looked at Vernon once more. "You can't believe him. He's from Crawford. He'll go back to them and tell them where we are!"

"It's the cancer" Vernon said and ignored Brie, looking straight at Murphy.

"She's got her good days and bad days. Today it's one of the latter. The pain gets so bad sometimes that…" he sighed and stroke Joyce's hair.

"Stop telling him all about us! Don't you remember their views? They believe that sick people are a liability! They'll come down here and finished where they left of! Don't you remember what they did to Albert? Gracie? We should just kill him. Stop him from going back to them" she said and Murphy tensed, fists clenching, jaw tightening. And once again he was back to the people wanting to kill him, no matter where he went. It was an absolute nightmare, he hated it, he wanted it to end and he wanted that stupid woman to shut up, so he finally lost his temper.

"Just shut up ye schtupid hag! I told ye, I'm not from this fuckin Crawford place, are ye deaf or what? I came all the way down here cos I knew that my pursuers can't stand te place either. I don't even know what's up with tha place! First time I saw it up close was when I saw tha freaky wall of theirs up there, then yer grandda showed up and told me ta follow him. I didn't ask fer this shit, I just thought 'finally! there's some nice people who are not out ta bloody kill me!' I don't wanna cause any trouble, alright!" he spat and then pulled his gun and knife, which startled the whole group and made Brie gasp in shock. She backed off and tried to run away, but Murphy threw the weapons right to her feet.

"Here, take 'em. And if ye wanna kill me, ye better take yer time and aim right. Cos I'm not in tha fuckin mood ta be shot and survive the whole thing a second fuckin time just cos all the people around me are too schtupid t'use a fuckin gun and just kill me right" he said angrily and pointed at his forehead, where the obvious scar was, the one that Vernon and Brie both had looked at more than once ever since they'd met.  
  
Once again he was incredibly angry and breathing heavily because of the turmoil in his chest. His face was red because of the anger, the frustration, the hurt of constantly being turned down or hunted ever since his brother had abandoned him and Simmons had been killed. Brie did take the gun, but Vernon got up and pressed her arms down. He walked past the member of his group and then looked at Murphy, eyeing him head to toe and then fixing his eyes on the ugly scar on his forehead. The younger MacManus felt embarrassed once again, looking down and kneading his sweaty fingers with his thumbs.

"What's your name, boy?" he asked and the fight suddenly left Murphy's body. Now he was just tired and upset. And he was facing the two options once again. _Tell the truth, lie, tell the truth, lie._ Murphy from Boston, who had been shot by his own brother. Murphy from Boston, who had been a serial killer before the apocalypse, or: David McGillian, the lonely survivor of a raid back in Boston. The lonely man who had lost his wife and daughter during the outbreak. Normal, poor guy, no threat, a family man.

He chewed on his lower lip and then looked at his feet.

"David" he said and there was a long pause after that.

Vernon examined him for a while, as if he was trying to make up his mind, then he suddenly placed a hand on Murphy's shoulder and nodded.

"Okay, David. Here is how we are going to do this. We're not going to let you leave this morgue for now. You pull your own weight, you tell us all about you and give us time to get to know you and trust you. We trust you, you can stay for as long as you want, and you can help us. You mess this up or it turns out that you _are_ from Crawford - I won't stop Brie from killing you."

"Vernon, you can't honestly.."Brie protested, and before Murphy got a chance to answer the old man suddenly turned around and walked back to the woman, so he could talk to her with angry whispers.

"Brie. I know what you are trying to tell me, but just think about this for a minute. This boy could be a goldmine for us. He is young and healthy, he can move his arms and legs and he told us that he is good at getting supplies. He could go up there for us, bring us medicine and food and he would be a whole lot faster and better than any of us. I mean, just look at us!" he hissed and then pointed at the other three elderly and sick members of his group. Brie had a look around and then pressed her lips together, obviously not liking the idea, but admitting that Vernon was right.

"Or he could get us all killed" she hissed back and then walked away with a headshake, eyes fixed on Murphy as she kneeled down next to sickly Joyce so she could squeeze her hand and help her get through the pain. Vernon concentrated on Murphy again, who had decided that he hated Brie. He was staring at her through narrowed eyes, even considering to just hiss at her, or stick out his tongue and show her his middle finger because she was being such a cow. Vernon examined him a little while longer, only to point at the body refrigerator.

"You can take the one at the far end if you want. You'd be surprised how comfortable they are" he said and chuckled.

Murphy looked at the thing, only to start chewing on his thumbnail again.

"I dunno" he mumbled and then pointed at the other side of the room, past the large blackboard and cupboards.

"I'd rather…stay back there?"

Vernon turned around with a frown.

"By the elevator?"

Murphy nodded and kept chewing, fingernails aching because he had almost chewed the down to bare flesh.  
Vernon sighed and shrugged.

"If that's what you want."

Murphy nodded once more, slowly walking over there, eyes fixed on Brie and the other two men, who hadn't said a single word yet. They actually looked friendly and nice, but he still didn't trust them. He hated knowing that he was kind of locked up in here for now, in an old abandoned candlelit morgue with old people that he didn't know. He also knew that it would be kind of easy for him to kill them all, or escape this hideout.

Except that he didn't want to. He had nowhere else to go, he wanted to be with people, nice people. He just wanted to stay down here and hide, below street level, far away from Augusta and its soldiers, far away from all the people who knew about his immunity and wanted him because of that. So he kept walking, not wanting to cause any trouble, suddenly feeling upset, lonely and helpless. He didn't know why. Sometimes moods like this just hit him. Finding new and relatively reasonable people was supposed to be a good thing after Augusta and Boston. But he still hated it, because he felt like an outsider, all alone, without a group, friends, family.

He could see how Brie was taking care of Joyce, holding her hand, stroking her shoulder and helping her drink and felt a sting in his heart. He hated to know that there was no one out there who could do the same with him. Part of him just really wanted a hug, someone to hold him and take care of him, family like that bastard brother of his who had shot and abandoned him, or friends like Simmons, who he still missed way too much. He missed having a father figure with him, missed having someone in his life he knew he could trust and talk to.

"Thanks fer letting me stay" he suddenly said and stopped walking in the middle of the room, only to let his gaze wander and look at the small group of old people. He wanted them to know that he didn't want to hurt them, and that he didn't want to get hurt in return. "And fer not killing me" he said and was honest about it.

He clung to the hem of his dirty grey shirt, awkward and a little bit shy, and nodded back when he saw Vernon nod.

"It's okay, son" he said and then watched Murphy walk away from them, behind the cupboards to the far corner of the room, so he could sit down and hide, closing his eyes and folding his hands in front of him so he could start praying for god to protect him, keep him safe, and let this people be good men.

* * *

**53 days later  
June 27th 2009, 10:02pm, Augusta, Georgia**

"We gonna talk about it?" Connor asked, and although he had lowered his voice it was still echoing across the entire neighbourhood.  
  
Daryl was still helping him walk while scanning the surrounding houses. For enemies, for a place to stay, just for…something. It was almost completely dark outside by now. It had taken them a long time to outrun the soldiers and get away from the building, because Connor could only move at such a slow speed, because they didn't have a car and because they used back alleys instead of the larger main roads to stay away from both the soldiers and the thugs that were supposed to rule the rest of the city.

He couldn't see much around them, just burned out and stripped down cars, a couple of corpses, both dead and walking. Just like before they didn't really mind the walkers, they even thought of them as useful beings now, because walkers in the area suggested that none of their enemies had made it so far. And although the undead wouldn't attack them and shuffled right past them both men still kept an eye on them, still fearing attacks even now. They didn't really trust their own blood or Connor's immunity, even now. The hunter kept his one hand placed on Connor's gun, which he kept in his belt, ready to shoot any of these dead fucks in case they decided to attack them.

"Talk 'bout what" he asked back in the mean time, as he manoeuvred them around a fence so they could make their way through a backyard of one of the many family homes in this part of Augusta, because now there were too many walkers on the streets. Connor snorted.

"Ye know what 'm fuckin talking about"

Daryl turned his head with a frown on his face, so he could look at his friend. He honestly didn't know what Connor was talking about, because so much had happened to them in such a short amount of time. The escape from Smith's group, Connor's foolish jump out of the window, the fact that his friend's stupid brother was still alive, or the fact that they'd kissed twice by now.

"Do I look like I fuckin know what yah prattlin about?" he asked and Connor let out a frustrated sigh.

He turned his head to look in the other direction, so he could keep an eye on the other backyards and surrounding houses.

"Well, 'm talking about how there's obviously fuckin more going on between us now."

Daryl snorted louder than intended, making Connor look at him once more with an angry frown.

"What" he asked and Daryl shook his head.

He felt embarrassed by the whole thing, that they were really talking about something like -this-. Because it was complicated and fucked up, because once again his whole body and mind didn't know what they were supposed to do, or think, or feel. And although he didn't want to hurt his friend he reacted in the only way he could, the only way he was used to.

"Sorry t'burst yah bubble, but their ain't nothing ' _going on_ ' between us" he growled and looked away, just so he could hide the fact that he was unsure about his answer, that he couldn't explain anything to himself in general. "I was just trying t'get yah to start breathin again. You were the one doing that gay shit yesterday night, not me" he grumbled and Connor laughed angrily, fingers suddenly digging deeper into Daryl's upper arm, the one he was clinging to as support.

"Except that I was already fuckin breathing again. We talked in te mean time? Remember that? If that was a mouth-to-mouth then my name's fuckin Alfred" the Irishman countered and Daryl didn't know what to say or do, because he was busier trying not to blush or act weird about it. "Besides don't call it gay shit. I ain't fuckin gay" the older of the two growled and tried to let go of Daryl so he could walk on his own and get some space between them, but the hunter wouldn't let him. He wrapped his arm even tighter around Connor's hip, digging his fingers into the sharp hipbone, wanting to keep him right next to him and bruise.

"And I guess it's kinda weird. Everything. Don't look at me, I ain't ever even been close ta a situation like this before either"  
the blonde went on and then pinched Daryl's arm, which made the hunter hiss and curse.

"Besides, ye _were_ doing the same _gay shit_ just a couple 'a hours ago" he mumbled and Daryl let out a frustrated sigh.

"Alright!" he snapped and stepped on his friend's foot on purpose.

"I got it! Maybe I just ain't gonna talk about shit" he went on and shifted Connor's weight because his arm was getting heavy.

"No need ta get all fuckin huffy about it!" the Irishman complained and tried to shove his friend.

"I was just trying ta be adult about te fuckin topic, but no, Ms Dixon's gotta get her panties in a bunch about it" he kept going and Daryl responded with an annoyed eyeroll because his friend just wouldn't let go.

"Fuck you."

"Fuck _you_."

They walked on without saying anything after that, pretty exhausted by now, hardly seeing anything because it was getting darker and darker. But now Daryl was actually curious. He hated how Connor kept digging around and practically asking for an explanation or definition and he didn't want to give him any regarding that topic, but at the same time he wanted to know more. He chewed on the inner side of his cheek and frowned.

"What'd yah mean by 'not close to a situation like that'?"

Connor gave him an annoyed look, now obviously not joking anymore.  
Now he was just pissed.

"What'd you mean by what'd I mean? The whole.." he moved his finger around in the air and swallowed.  
He sighed and shook his head.

"Fuckin hell…let's..let's just call it gay shit, then. Gay gay gay faggotty gay shit if ye must. Everything else's just fuckin ridiculous" he growled and looked away. "Jesus fuckin Christ" he cursed under his breath because it really was ridiculous. Daryl cocked an eyebrow and snorted gently.

"You sure 'bout that? Yah sure look like it. Been screamin it at me the whole time" he said and Connor tried to punch his guts.

"Fuck you" he said but missed, which made Daryl chuckle.

The Irishman hissed when he lost his balance because of that and accidentally shifted his weight on his twisted angle. Daryl managed to catch him and clung to him even tighter, looking around the neighbourhood because he knew that they wouldn't be getting out of Augusta tonight, because they both were exhausted and needed to rest.

"Don't even just make that statement about te whole gay category, actually" Connor muttered after a moment of walking, which made Daryl look at him. The older of the two friends sighed and rubbed his face tiredly. "Make that about fuckin relationships'n general."

There was a long pause after that, because the Irishman dwelled on his past and Daryl felt awkward because of that statement.  
He chose to keep quiet about it, because he didn't know how to handle a situation like this, because he'd never been in a situation like that.  
Connor kept talking on his own.

"Fer obvious reasons. Had the church, my old job, then my new job.." he swallowed yet again and looked away.

"Murph" he said and Daryl grabbed his friend's shirt tighter, clenching his fists, a natural hate reaction to that name.

"He was te main reason why I never really did the whole relationship thing, actually. Just couldn't, I guess. I was too caught up with looking after and fussing over te little shit" he said and suddenly sounded bitter, because right then it really hit him. He'd been too caught up with too many things until now, running away from soldiers, jumping out of windows, the whole thing with Daryl and his stupid ankle, but now all the adrenaline, stress and spontaneity had left his body. He was calm, collected and in possession of all his wits again, which meant that he could properly think about what all the new information on Murphy really meant.

He was alive, out there, somewhere. With no one to watch his ass. And what really hurt was that he didn't know where Murphy was, how to find him, where to find him. Knowing that he was dead had been one thing. It had broken his heart and nearly destroyed him, but at least he had known where Murphy was. What he was doing. He had been rotting away in an apartment in Boston. For more than a year.  
  
This had been cruel, but it had been something of certainty. Something final, something he couldn't change. Reality was different now. Everything was uncertain, everything was changing, all the time, he could influence everything, change everything, except that he didn't know how, or where to start.

And then there was the one thing that really kept poking his insides now, that made him hate himself all over again, that made him feel like he needed to throw up. He had shot his brother. He had shot Murphy when he had still been alive. He had been so blinded, so caught up with his own little baby problems like all the crying like a pathetic little nancy and begging and praying that he had been unable to see the obvious signs. He had failed his brother, had cut their connection all by himself.  
  
And then he'd just found himself someone new, clung to a new man, gotten better, laughed and smoked and watched movies and got drunk like he deserved to be happy, and now he was even trying to fucking hook up with his brother's lookalike. It made him feel ashamed of himself and it suddenly upset him big time, because he knew that he was just a shadow of his former self, the person he had been prior the apocalypse when he had been a very good brother, and a very devotional man.

Daryl cleared his throat and snapped Connor out of his state, remembered him that he wanted to keep going with his talk, to get back on track.

"All I ever had was a couple of encounters with a buncha ladies down at te pub, and that was once in a blue moon.  
Have a buncha beers, watch a couple 'a movies or go out on a date, then do the obviously necessary shit like fucking around."

After all the joking around and making fun of Daryl he was suddenly back to this more miserable state of being, because he was tired, exhausted and all the old feelings and thoughts about his brother were coming back at such a force, that it actually surprised him. Never in his life had he thought that something like this could really happen, that there was the slight possibility he could get Murphy back without being completely crazy.

But the whole back from the dead thing was exactly the problem now. He knew that Daryl hated to hear him talk about this, but he just couldn't keep it to himself, what such a change could mean now. Because it was true, everything he'd said, and he was only just realizing that now. His entire life and being had been intertwined with his brother. Revolved around his brother. From growing inside their mother's belly until that last moment he had seen him back in Boston.  
  
It had always been about Murphy, with Murphy. Every second of his life, from sleeping in the same room, to eating in the same room, watching movies in the same room, going to the same workplace, doing the same work, going to the same church, the same pub, sharing the same apartment, the same clothes, symmetrical tattoos, smoking the same brand of cigarettes and drinking the same bottle of whiskey.

Never in this life had he ever been just on his own, just himself, thinking for himself or wishing for himself. They had always been an unity. Connor and Murphy. There had never been interest, time or space for relationships, girlfriends, marriage, children. They'd never wasted a second thought on this like normal people, never felt the need for it.

But here he was now, a changed man. A person of his own, with his own needs, his own clothes, his own new relationships and he realized that for the first time ever he was actually ready for this kind of thing, no matter how fucked up it was because it was with his best friend who was a man on top of that. He'd never been interested in that either, had been appalled by it in fact. Then he had met Daryl.

And Murphy was back.

Nothing fit anymore, not his old habbits and life, not his new one.  
He didn't know what he wanted, what he needed and what was right, and this just made him feel even more lonely.  
He started sulking and kept walking. Maybe it was a good thing that Daryl obviously didn't want shit anyway.

The hunter noticed Connor's mood shift right away, and it didn't just make him angry, it also frustrated him. He knew that he had been the one to try and change the topic, that he was the one who was trying to make it look like he didn't want or notice the change between them. He still didn't want it, that was true, and he did want to change the topic, but that didn't mean that he wanted to hear his friend talk about his past, or his goddamn brother. Because it made him angry and jealous, because it made him want to change his mind about everything.

He didn't like how the whole conversation and situation had suddenly changed from joking around to being way deeper than that, he wanted Connor to stop sulking, wanted him to stop thinking about his goddamn twin brother, and he knew that he just had to get them back on track, to make this about HIM and Connor, not about Murphy and Connor.

"Dude, we ain't fuckin" he said and tried to lighten the mood, and he did achieve a gentle chuckle from Connor.

"Ew. Are ye fuckin disgusting" his friend answered and then gave Daryl a devilish smirk.

"Besides, sorry ta burst _your_ bubble, laddy, but I ain't fuckin virgins anyway" he said and nudged Daryl in the chest, which caused the hunter to hiss in pain because it was the spot with the broken rip.

"Screw you" he grunted and kicked his friend yet again, which made Connor giggle.

But then he had to huff and smirk himself. Both men ended up chuckling, and they both accepted it as welcome and casual ending for their rather serious conversation about a sensitive issue. There was absolutely no solution to the topic, no explanation or further definition of what was going on between them, but they both decided that they wanted to keep it that way for now.

"We good?" Connor asked after a moment and Daryl sighed and looked at him for a while, because it obviously wasn't over yet.  
He chewed on his lower lip and then nodded slowly.

"Yeah. We're good. Good _friends_ " he said and looked away, because he didn't want to look Connor right in the eye while saying that. The truth was that he didn't even want it to be like that himself. Too much had changed and his friend mattered too much in a twisted and fucked up way, but everything was just too complicated, and he thought that he was far too damaged for any such thing in general. He didn't want to destroy anything between them. He wanted to be on the safe side, and he didn't want to disappoint his brother because now that he thought about it: it would be kind of disrespectful. Merle had raised him, like that, to openly hate that kind of thing Connor was suggesting.

His brother had died just a couple of weeks ago, and if he really let himself get into the whole new thing it would just feel like he was using this opportunity. Tell Merle 'fuck you, I'm glad you're dead, now I can do the exact opposite of everything you've taught me.' No, he needed to honour his brother. He carried the family name 'Dixon', and the Dixons were tough manly fuckers. Then there was the other reason for this answer: he still believed that he was going to lose his friend anyway.

He knew that they needed to find Murphy now, no matter how much he hated the kid. His friend wouldn't ever be happy otherwise, would never let go and give them peace. And back at the prison Connor had kept talking about wanting to leave Georgia on his own, wanting to go back up North because he didn't want to stay with his group, the people that Daryl considered his family. He still thought it was going to happen, that Connor was going to grab his brother and leave, maybe thank him for the time they had spent together and that's it.

He'd heard him talk about it just minutes before after all.

_He was te main reason why I never really did the whole relationship thing, actually. Just couldn't, I guess.  
I was too caught up with looking after and fussing over te little shit._

Daryl knew that his friend was going to go back to just that as soon as they had found his brother.  
So he needed to let go while he still could. Loosen the bond.  
Make sure Connor was safe and sound until then, so they could go separate ways knowing that the other was alive and healthy.

"Friends. Aye. Good friends" Connor repeated, making it clear that he understood what it was supposed to mean, although he didn't really seem to like it.

Daryl shifted their weight once more and then turned his head so he could look at one of the houses.

"Let's crash for the night" he said to change the topic.

He wanted to walk over to the house, but Connor dug his fingers in his upper arm once again and tried to drag him in the other direction with a headshake.

"No. I gotta find my brother" he said and tried to keep walking, but Daryl kept dragging him in the other direction, using the fact that his friend couldn't really walk with his twisted ankle.

"I know, but we ain't gonna find him today anyway. 's dark out here, we can't see shit and we need to rest.  
First thing we gonna do tomorrow is get ourselves a car and leave this goddamn city."

He tried to get Connor over to the French window of the house. His friend kept struggling until he managed to free himself.

"No! Who even says that he ever left the city?" he asked and hobbled away from Daryl.

"Te kid might be a bit reckless, but I know 'im. Murph's sharp. He could've set up wrong tracks and made them think that he left te city. There's lotsa supplies here, and he can't really track or hunt. He needs those supplies, maybe he got out of the city center and away from those thugs to set up his own little base camp or shit like tha. He could still be 'ere in this city, and I gotta find him right te fuck now" he said and wanted to keep going, leave this backyard, which made Daryl sigh and grit his teeth. He didn't want Connor to know. It had been his plan to make the two of them 'look around' for a little bit longer, maybe even get back to Woodbury so he could buy some more 'alone' time with Connor, but judging by the fuss his friend was making that plan was absolutely ridiculous and useless.

"He's in Savannah, dumbass" he growled and shook his head.

Connor turned around to look at him with an angry frown.

"What?" he asked and walked over to Daryl.

"How long've you known and when did ye plan ta fuckin tell me this?" he said, looking angry and pissed off.

The hunter turned around to get the door open.

"I was gonna do that, but yah were a whole lot more busy with talking about gay shit and cuddling with teddy bears" he muttered and tried to take a look inside the house, to see if there were any potential threats, walkers or dangers.

"You weren't gonna tell me, were ye?" Connor suddenly asked and Daryl froze for a moment.

"That Murph's still alive. If it weren't fer the surgery then ye would've kept that shit t'yerself, wouldn't ye?" he went on and Daryl snorted.

"Don't be stupid" he muttered and managed to open the door.

He then turned around and looked at Connor, who was staring back at him with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Get your ass in there. The sooner we get some sleep the sooner we can go get a car and drive down to Savannah tomorrow."

Connor looked around the backyard and let out a gentle sigh. He supposed that Daryl was right. He -was- exhausted and freezing because his clothes were still wet from the jump into the river, and it -was- way too dark to go anywhere. They needed a car, they needed to hunker down in a place and come up with a decent plan to make this work, but he still didn't like that. He just wanted to find Murphy, more than anything, and after being without him for more than a year he had a hard time taking another day of separation. He chewed on his upper lip and then headed for the house.

"Aye. That is, if ye don't just tell me shit t'keep me away from 'im" he muttered and entered the house, not giving Daryl a chance to respond to that.


	21. Kindness

**52 days ago...** **  
** **May 6th 2009, 8:18am, Savannah, Georgia**

"Are you hungry?"

Murphy startled awake, sitting up straight and back connecting with the wall. He'd had another dream of getting shot and running running running, which was why he was scared and his heart was pounding in his chest. The younger MacManus looked at the woman in front of him with wide eyes. She looked rather surprised by his reaction, and after withdrawing the foot plate for a moment she offered it again.

"You look pretty thin and I wasn't too hungry anyway, so we got some more for you" Joyce said, and Murphy rubbed his nose with a sniff. He relaxed a bit and let his gaze wander. He could see the rest of the group wandering about the morgue in the dim light of candles and the outside sun, which shone through the tiny windows just below the wall.

He'd had a pretty tough night, despite the fact that they had given him a mattress, pillow and blanket so he didn't have to sleep on the cold floor in his corner by the elevator. Joyce was still holding the plate in her shaky hands, and the dark-haired MacManus twin figured that it would be impolite to let the old woman stand there when she was nice enough to offer him food.

"Thanks" he murmured quietly and took it to get a better look at the food. It was the usual. Canned fruit, beef jerky, whatever was left. He took the fork so he could play around with one of the slices of peaches for a bit, and he wouldn't stop looking around instead of actually eating something. He noticed Brie on the other side of the room.  
  
She was talking to the other men but would look at him every now and then, looking angry and displeased by the fact that Joyce was interacting with him. He really hated the woman and decided to ignore her, so he fixed his eyes on Joyce yet again and sighed. He was very hungry, that was true, but the woman in front of him looked sick and, well, she was old after all.

"Don't ye need that, though? I don't wanna eat yer food. I don' wanna be rude or something, but you don't look too good" he mumbled and tried to give the plate back to the old woman, who just waved him off and leaned against the wall.

"It's okay. My belly's all..filled with cramps and tumors anyway" she said and chuckled with her sweet grandma laughter.

Murphy fixed his eyes on her belly for a moment and started chewing on his lips.  
He still wouldn't start eating, because he considered it impolite to eat while talking.

"Is it terminal?"

Joyce sighed and looked at her group.

"We were all in remission when it started. Now we're just…waiting for it all to end."

Murphy let out a gentle sigh as well and put the plate down on the mattress.

"Aye, that we are" he muttered and Joyce cocked her head curiously.

"You really aren't from Crawford, are you, boy? The accent, we would've noticed that before. That's…." she observed and Murphy nodded.

"'m Irish. I think" he muttered and scratched his head, because even now he couldn't remember much about his past.

But all the others back at Boston had said this, Simmons had said this, so he guessed that he had been in Ireland at some point.

"Is it as bad over there as here?" the old woman asked sadly and Murphy shrugged helplessly.

"Dunno. I've told ye before. I'm from Boston, actually."

"Oh, immigrated?"

Murphy shrugged yet again and tried to change the topic, because he hated to be reminded of the fact that he couldn't remember much because of the headshot. He also didn't want to screw this up, considering that the group had stated that they wanted to get to know him before they allowed him to stay and leave on a regular basis.

"Listen. I wasn' lying before. I kinda…" he sighed and tried to come up with an explanation why it was so easy for him to enter walker-infested buildings without actually dropping the truth bomb about how he was immune to the infection after a bite.

"I got my ways ta enter buildings. I'm really good at tha. I saw that you were havin cramps and everything yesterday, so if ye need anything t'help ye get through the cancer…" he shrugged and tried to look her right in the eye, to show her that he was being honest. "I really just wanna help. And thank ye fer letting me stay."

Joyce smiled.

"Well, you could get me proper doctors and another chemo" she said and then shook her head.  
  
"Although I really don't want to endure that again. So no, you can't really help me. It's okay though.  
Vernon and Boyd take good care of me."

"Joyce!" Brie called out and both Murphy and the old woman turned their heads to look at her.

The younger woman was waving Joyce down, a grim look on her face, like he was fed up with the fact that her friend was talking to a stranger.  
The new member of their group narrowed his eyes at her for a second.

"And her" he mumbled and Joyce sighed.

"She's having a hard time. Crawford killed her best friend" she answered and Murphy frowned.

"Speaking of which. What te hell is this Crawford place. Sounds horrible" he muttered and Joyce nodded.

"It is. I'll let Vernon know that you want to talk to him. He can tell you everything about it" she said and started walking, but Murphy called after her.

"Joyce!" he said which made the old woman turn around and look at him.

"Thank you. Fer the food" he said and nodded at the plate.

"And…fer believing me that I'm not fram Crawford."

The old woman smiled at him, and for the first time in a long time Murphy felt okay.  
Her presence was comforting somehow, because she was a fellow soul that was getting tormented by bodily pain,  
and because she felt like a grandmother.

"There's another reason why you cannot possibly be from this dreadful place. You keep thanking us.  
Crawford doesn't know the meaning of kind words like "thank you"."

She then turned around yet again to get back to her group, and Murphy finally grabbed the plate to start eating.

* * *

**an hour later..**

Murphy was resting both his arms on the former operating table, chin buried in the crook of his arm as he looked at the map in front of him. Vernon, Boyd and Clive were there as well, all gathered around the table and map.

"This…is Crawford" Vernon started to explain whereas the other two men watched the newest member of their group cautiously. Murphy tried not to roll his eyes, because their intentions were obvious. They were trying to make out whether he was familiar with the place or not, if there was recognition showing in his eyes. Since he honestly didn't know the place anyway he didn't worry too much about that.  
  
Brie wasn't there with them, she was with Joyce again. The old woman was having one of her bad cramps again, and although Murphy hardly knew her he already felt sorry for her. She had been a nice lady this morning, and something in his guts told him that this was the kind of thing he liked to do. Help good people.

 _So that which is good may flourish_ , he suddenly remembered, which made him frown.  
  
It felt like a famous quote. Or an important one from his life prior the headshot and the apocalypse. He let out a gentle sigh and shook his head, trying not to ponder on that. He looked at the map instead. The younger MacManus could see a whole bunch of houses, grouped around one of Savannah's many former and old squares.

"When the apocalypse started it was the only place to hold up against the plague. Countless citizens of Savannah got attacked and eaten on the street by mobs of undead, but for some reason this place seemed to hold up just fine. It was like a myth. Everyone wanted to get in there, and it was a good enough place in the beginning. Better than the outside anyway. But then it became clear why they were able to survive like that. Their leader is an old, mean looking man named Oberson. When it got obvious that things weren't going to get better he set up clear rules to keep Crawford going" he said and Murphy listened to what the man had to say.  
  
He was rather curious, because the wall outside had pretty much shocked him. He had figured that the place could be bad, but now it was more than -obvious- that Crawford was bad. He got the vibe, especially when he looked at the other members of the group. Boyd nodded and folded his arms with a sad sigh.

"Terrible rules" he agreed and Clive nodded as well.

Vernon turned his head to look at suffering Joyce with sad eyes.

"They decided not to tolerate any weak or disobedient people any longer. Strict rationing, death sentence for looting. They even set up a 'no children, no child bearing' rule. It turned into survival of the fittest. They went on a killing spree over night, like the nazis back in old Germany before the second world war. They would cast out the sick and the elderly, and whoever refused got shot on the spot. When panic broke out they closed the borders, tried not to let anyone out and kill everyone who didn't fit their ideas. "

Murphy pressed his lips together, suddenly feeling disgusted and sickened by the description of Crawford.  
Now he could finally understand why these people had treated him like that yesterday.  
If he had really been from Crawford then he could have been one mean son of a bitch.

"Tha's sick" he muttered and the men opposite him nodded.

"Our group was twice as big before that night. We lost good friends that day, and barely made it out of there ourselves."

Murphy started chewing on his fingernails and turned around to look at Brie for a moment.  
He remembered what she'd said the day before.

_They'll come down here and finish where they left of! Don't you remember what they did to Albert? Gracie?  
_ _She's having a hard time. Crawford killed her best friend._

He still couldn't stand her that much simply because she had been mean after all, but he still could understand her reaction a bit better.

"'m really sorry" he said and looked at the rest of the group.

"And 'm really not like 'em" he went on and then sighed. He got a bit moody again and buried his chin in the crook of his arm.

"Guess I'd be more like one of their liabilities over there" he muttered in regards to his 'disabilities' which had been caused by the headshot (he still had a hard time seeing clearly on his right eye, and he still couldn't read or write that much). Then there was the less obvious part about him. Immune or not, he still was infected with the mysterious disease. Smith had told him back in Augusta.

He grabbed the map and took a closer look at it. Once again he could hear Joyce's painfilled gasps and groans behind him. The pain came and went multiple times a day, and he really wanted to help. There were even more reasons to it, because even now the whole group was watching him wearily. Although it seemed like they believed him that he wasn't from Crawford that didn't mean that they trusted strangers. Which was a good thing, he supposed, but not from his point of view.

Murphy looked at the map for a while, fingers of his left hand drumming on the table while he kept chewing on his lower lip. He really felt the urge to smoke but couldn't because he'd run out of cigarettes days ago and because he considered it rude, smoking around cancer patients. He tried to get the map into his head, get familiar with this Crawford place when an idea suddenly struck him.

"How's te place looking now? How are they doing?"

Vernon exchanged a glance with Clive and then put both his hands on the table.

"Better than ever, by the looks of it. We saw a whole bunch of them scooping out their surroundings, like they were thinking about expanding."

Murphy put the map away and nodded.

"Let me guess, they're the ones who've been stripping the entire town clean except fer the overrun places" he said in regards to everything he had seen when he had arrived here. Empty shops, cars with missing parts, tires and engines, cleaned out gas stations and pharmacies. Boyd nodded.

"If it weren't for the supplies in the old bomb shelter then they would've starved us out by now. We've been trying to get some more medicine and supplies in the dark, but it was pretty much useless."

Vernon nodded.

"Brie and I were on one of those runs when we found you" he stated, but Murphy wouldn't look at him or Brie.  
He kept his eyes fixed on the map, until he came to the conclusion that it was a good idea.

"What 'bout stealing things from Crawford?" he asked and the whole room went quiet.  
  
Then Clive snorted.

"We might be terminally ill, but we're not suicidal, boy."

Murphy nodded and played his fingers.

"Aye, I know. But maybe I could…do that. T'prove myself? Think about it, we'd kill two birds with one stone.  
Get the medicine yer people obviously need, and make this Crawford place pay fer everything they've done to you and yer friends."

Vernon chuckled and pointed at his hand.

"So this really isn't just a fancy tattoo, hm?" he asked and Murphy looked at the ink on his fingers, the letters that spelled out 'Aequitas'.

He quickly hid his hand and Vernon kept chuckling.

"I can see that you're trying to show that you're all about _justice_ and honesty, but see it from our perspective, boy.  
You might not be from Crawford, but you could use this opportunity and run away from us,  
you could be from another group and tell _them_ after all."

"I told ye! 'm from Boston and 'm all by myself because my family and friends got killed. If I wanted ta betray you and steal yer shit, don't ye think I could've done that hours ago? Bunch a sick old people are not exactly a threat ta me" Murphy snapped, suddenly losing his temper and startling Boyd. He noticed his mistake about a second later and regretted his choice of words, because now he'd just spooked the others. He let out a frustrated sigh and shook his head.  
  
Oh how he hated that, trying to reason with people, trying to earn their trust. It wasn't like he couldn't talk to people or gain new friends, but it were moments like this where he just knew that his brother had been better at the whole kind of thing. It obviously wasn't his cake, he just seemed to make it worse all the time with his temper. The dark-haired MacManus twin bit his lip and took a deep breath.

"If ye'd just give me a fuckin chance ta prove myself so we could stop all this mistrust" he said, more gently and quieter this time.

He noticed the angry glare Brie was giving him because of his outburst, and that didn't exactly surprise him.  
The three men of the group exchanged glances once more, then Vernon started walking with a smile.  
He kept looking at Murphy, to let him know that he was supposed to follow.

"Well, if you wanna prove yourself you can start by helping me take care of the toilets and showers."

Murphy looked at the man, disbelief and disappointment showing in his eyes.

Of course they would make them their bitch first.

He rolled his eyes and got up with a growl, having a hard time not yelling 'keep your shit to yourself' at the man. But he knew that this really was his only good chance to prove himself, because if he kept being stubborn about everything then they might end up killing him or kicking him out just to reduce the amount of annoyance. And he supposed to shoveling other people's shit was a luxury compared to the outside life. He followed Vernon with an angry frown. He knew that he was going to hate the job, but at least he could consider himself a 'part' of the group's life now.

* * *

**52 days later** **  
** **June 27th 2009, 10:37pm, Augusta, Georgia**

"Dude, where'd you put my fuckin clothes?" Connor asked as he searched their backpack.

They had spent a couple of minutes searching the house for any soldiers, thugs or walkers, and after putting down two undead inside the bathroom and considering the house a relatively safe place the Irishman had decided to get rid of his old and wet clothes in the living room. Except there were hardly any clothes in Daryl's backpack.

"Why'd you forget my fuckin bag? Of course ye gotta drag all yer shit with you, but forget about my shit!" he complained and let go of the thing on the couch, only to give Daryl an angry glare. The hunter was standing inside the old kitchen, searching the drawers for supplies without finding any.

"Calm your ass. You're the one who just jumped out of a window and left me to do all the dirty work up there. I had to climb out of the window and make my way back on a goddamn _rain gutter_. I took what I could without falling down" Daryl answered and resumed his search.

Connor let out a frustrated sigh and did find his favourite t-shirt, but that was about it.

"Jesus fuckin Christ" he muttered to himself as he got rid of his sticky wet shirt to replace it with the other one.

"I got no fuckin spare jeans!" he yelled about a minute later and Daryl slammed the one of the doors shut way louder than necessary.

"What the hell are yah, a girl? Stop wettin your pants over a wet pair of jeans. Ain't my fault you had to jump inside a freakin river."

"Oh fuck you" Connor grunted and then limped towards the stairs, which made Daryl turn around and look at him.

"Hey, where you going?" he asked, but Connor kept moving.

"Upstairs, see if those people have some fuckin clothes I can borrow until my fuckin jeans are dry" the Irishman said and Daryl watched him with a frown, noticing the limping and not really liking it. "Wait up" he growled and went back for their bag until he found one of his old pants.

"Take this one" he said and threw it at his friend.

Connor barely managed to catch it.  
The older of the two friends took a look at the clothes and then slowly walked back to the old couch in the middle of the room.

"Jaysus, are ye really this fat? Better than stealing other people's shit, though, I guess" he muttered and opened his belt. Daryl just stood there for a moment with folded arms because he didn't know what else to do, and he was unaware of the fact that he was staring, but Connor noticed it and smirked. He turned around so he was facing Daryl and kept undoing his belt, whilst mimicking and loudly humming the infamous striptease tune, which made the hunter snort and then turn around with a headshake.

"You're pathetic" he said and walked away, only noticing his staring just now.

Connor and his stupid jokes and pranks. Although they were quite annoying and stupid he kind of had to admit that they were funny. The Irishman was still laughing to himself, being the one to enjoy his jokes the most once again. Daryl was heading for the kitchen once more when Connor's belt suddenly hit his back, because his friend had obviously thrown it during his 'striptease'.  
  
The hunter knew that it was just a playful gesture and that his friend didn't mean him any harm, but he still flinched really hard and ducked his head down while covering it with both his hands. It was a subconscious reaction and his body tensed until his muscles ached, because his skin still associated pain with the touch of a belt. For a moment it was absolutely quiet inside the room, as Daryl quickly tried to stand up straight again like nothing had happened, but that didn't matter because his friend had already noticed his reaction.

"Fuck. Dude. I'm so sorry. I didn't…" he said, noticing his stupid and foolish mistake just now.  
  
The blonde wanted to facepalm himself so hard for this deed and tried to walk up to his friend, to make it right somehow,  
but Daryl kept walking away, stiffly and awkwardly like nothing had happened.

"Don't know what yah talkin 'bout" he muttered and searched the rest of the cupboards.

As soon as he touched the knobs he could see that his hands were shaking though. Connor instantly stopped laughing and talking, because his mean joke and Daryl's past had spoiled the mood again, from one second to the next. The hunter could only hear the ruffling of clothes as Connor got changed, and he waited a bit longer inside he kitchen to make sure that he wouldn't walk in on his friend standing there buck naked in front of him. Or something.

He did find one spare can of baked beans in the far corner of one of the bottom shelves, so that was a bonus. When he walked back inside the living room he could see his friend sitting there on the couch, crouched down as he was feeling his ankle with a frown. The hunter put the can on the table and then looked at his friend.

"You alright?" he asked and pointed at the naked ankle.  
  
Connor nodded and hissed when he touched a particularly sensitive spot.

"Aye. I think's not broken" he muttered and kept feeling it.  
  
Daryl just frowned and tried to make up is mind, only to come to the conclusion that it couldn't exactly hurt. Not him at least. He sat down on the table in front of Connor and then grabbed his friend's ankle, and maybe he took that one on purpose to annoy the Irishman.

"Ow, you motherfucker!" Connor promptly complained and tried to kick Daryl, but the hunter kept the foot in place and then started feeling it carefully and almost tenderly, which was a contrast to how he usually treated his friend. Years of taking care of himself, post abusive nights with his father, had taught him how to treat sprained and broken bones, so he considered himself an 'expert' there by now.

"Ain't broke" he confirmed a moment later and tried to make out if he could find something to support his friend's ankle.

Connor snorted gently and leaned back into the couch.

"Told ye" he muttered and watched how Daryl was trying to use an old remote control as a splint.  
  
The hunter was all caught up with it, and it actually surprised Connor a bit. It wasn't like he didn't know that his friend cared a lot about him, but Daryl hardly ever showed such kind gestures. It was a bit awkward for the both of them, even now after their 'talk', so the blonde tried to lighten the mood a bit.

"Aye, and I'd like a proper massage while yer at it" he said and wriggled his toes, despite the fact that it hurt.

Daryl looked up and gave him his infamous 'really?' frown.

"And a beer, chicks that are waving air at me with palm leaves, and a proper movie.  
Maybe a haircut, a shave, whirlpool and more beer..."

"You're makin this thing a spa holiday" Daryl asked sarcastically, not really getting his friend's mood swings once again.

"Well aye, I got someone fondlin my dirty feet right now, 'f course it's gotta be a fuckin spa holiday. I mean I got ta dive in a beautiful body of water today, I'm down in the South, everyone wants a piece of me, I'm eating local delicacies like squirrels, there's sunshine sunshine sunshine and crazy wrinkly people who stagger around like old drunks. Perfect holiday. Georgia's finest tour. Next stop - Savannah" he said but then stopped smirking, because then he remembered why he was heading there. Daryl slowed down with his caring and tensed, and this time Connor could feel it.

They were quiet for while until the hunter was almost finished. Connor got lost in thoughts for a while, and the truth was that he didn't even know what he was supposed to feel like. He was beyond excited and his heart kept beating in his chest every single time he remembered that it was true, that it wasn't a dream. His baby brother was alive. Down here, in the same state, maybe three hours away from him. One year of being separated from each other. One year of pain, depression and heartbreak. And now this. It could be over soon.

He got ripped out of his train of thoughts when Daryl let go of his ankle and sighed.

"That's it" he said and got back up.

"You wanna eat something? I found this can of beans back in the kitchen" he went on and headed for the food, but Connor just shook his head.

"Nah. 'm good. My guts are filled with ' _too much information at once_ ' right now" he said and Daryl looked at his friend with a frown. Although the Irishman had gained muscles and weight he still looked rather skinny, so he didn't really like the fact that his friend was practically running on alcohol and cigarettes all the time. But he wasn't in the mood for fighting or talking about that, because he knew that his friend's lack of appetite had something to do with his brother, and he didn't want to talk about him.

The hunter sat down on an old chair close to the sofa and put his feet on the table.

"Suit yourself" he muttered and started opening the can to eat some of it himself, because he was hungry after all the running around. Connor was just sitting there, moving his fingers through his messy blonde hair, eyes fixed on his twisted ankle but not really looking at it anyway. There it was again, his mind was slipping, his body was drained, and despite all his previous jokes he just didn't look too good.

"Well go on then" Daryl growled and Connor looked at him.

"What?"

The hunter leaned back and shrugged.

"Go crash for the night. I got it covered. I'll do the first shift. Kick your ass outta bed in a couple 'a hours."

Connor shook his head and folded his arms over his belly while leaning his head back on the backrest of the couch so he could give his neck a break.

"Nah. Told ye. 'm good. Ain't even tired" he answered.  
  
Maybe he was lying there, because he -was- tired, but he was too excited and the thoughts kept spinning in his head, so he was actually quite sure that he wasn't going to fall asleep anyway.

"Connor" Daryl said, sounding displeased and angry.

The Irishman turned his head to look at his friend, wanting to snap back that the man was supposed to shut it because he didn't get shit anyway, but the hunter kept going.

"Your bro's alive. And he probably ain't going nowhere. And even if he did or does, we're gonna find him and he's gonna be fine. Alright. "

Connor just looked at his friend, and he was actually surprised how much he had needed those words right now. Without even knowing it. He was usually a tough fucker, he could jump out of windows, face soldiers and thugs, shoot his way through countless walkers and run around dirty sewers, but when it was about his brother then he was an emotionally unstable wreck, someone who needed support. No matter how much he hated to admit that.

This was another reason why he had been absolutely heartbroken the day his father had died. Murphy had been heartbroken himself, and they had wept together as their father was dying in their arms, but as soon as they had been exiting the building to face the police force Murphy had handled it a whole lot better than him. His brother had been stronger in this very moment, he had stopped crying to face the men who were going to arrest them like man.

He, on the other hand, had still been crying even in front of the police. Not the pathetic sobbing kind of crying, but the tears had kept coming and running down his cheeks because his father had died. The one person he had considered 'above' him. He and Murphy were twins, but he had always taken on the role of the big brother. Which meant caring about and for Murphy 24/7. Doing him good, giving him strength and support. And with their father back in their life he'd had a person like that of his own. Someone to give him strength, someone to make proud and not be proud of, someone who was older and wiser than him, someone who could emotionally support him for once in a way that Murphy couldn't.

And now he had Daryl, and although his friend was younger than him he was the one who kept him grounded in situations like that, who was able to step up and be the leader, someone who took care of him right then and there. The hunter ate another bunch of beans and then chewed and swallowed carefully, only to keep talking once his mouth was empty again.

"Now go get your ass up there and sleep before I change my mind and you can look for your stupid brother on your own. Good lord" he muttered, his usual grumpy self showing once again, just to mask the fact that he cared a lot. Connor smirked tiredly, and although he still didn't feel like sleeping he supposed that he probably should try. He needed to be fit the next day, so he wouldn't fall asleep or pass out during their possible reunion.

Reunion. With Murphy.

Just thinking about that made his hands shake and his heart beat faster.  
He needed to move before he lost his mind due to the anticipation, so he got up with a tired sigh and stretched.

"Sappose yer right" he yawned and limped towards the stairs to the bedrooms while scratching his head.

He was halfway up the stairs when he suddenly stopped in his tracks and turned around to look at Daryl.

"And hey" he said and the hunter looked up at him, spoon still in his mouth.

"Thanks fer getting me outta the water and saving my ass every time" he said and Daryl awkwardly moved the spoon out of his mouth.

"Yer a good friend" the Irishman went on and nodded.

"Murph's gonna like ye" he said and Daryl wanted to roll his eyes but wouldn't.

Of course. Such a nice statement and compliment had to turn into a fucking soap opera over Murphy fucking MacManus all over again.  
Oh how he wanted to rip the skin off that kid's bones because he was so goddamn annoying without even being here in person.

"Ain't so sure about that" he just growled and looked at his beans again.

"Just wait and see. Tomorrow" Connor said and sounded so hopeful, so excited, almost childish, which made Daryl clench his fingers around the spoon. His friend soon left the room by going further up the stairs and then entering one of the bedrooms. The younger of the two friends looked up at the stairs once again and kept chewing, slowly and hard because he was so frustrated.

Lonely.

That was the right word, actually. He was lonely and getting lonelier still. It wasn't like he didn't want his friend to be happy. Quite the opposite. He really did. After seeing everything that Connor had been through and done to himself the guy really deserved that. Happiness. His old life, this kid that seemed to matter so so much to him. But the happier Connor got the lonelier he became, and that actually hurt in his chest, far more than his broken rip or healing shot wound.

He moved the spoon around the can and looked at the beans, his mind now replaying countless missed opportunities. Their relationship had been a train wreck. Fucked up, out of control, always wrong, violent and far too intense. He'd done so many things wrong, said so many wrong things, and everything seemed to pay off now. Murphy was far more valuable than him because of all that. He was just a 'good friend' to Connor, and he was sure that even the whole kissing bullshit had been fake and 'last minute'. The one time his friend had done it all by himself had been the night before he was supposed to die, so he was sure that it had just been a 'fuck it, now or never' moment.

This was probably their last night together. As just the two of them. And even now Connor couldn't stop talking about Murphy, couldn't await their reunion and so much that he didn't want to sleep or eat. Daryl wanted to be that person. Just once in his life he wanted to be more than 'a good friend', 'redneck trash' or an 'excellent hunter'. He wasn't the precious little 'baby brother' anymore, because Merle was dead. Rick had Judith and Carl now, and he was pretty sure that Carol had hooked up with that one Woodbury guy by now.

And here he was, all by himself, lonely, and eating fucking baked beans.

He really was worthless trash.

He looked at the food and wanted to throw it, but knew that it was a waste of supplies and that Connor needed to eat later.  
So he put it on the table, grabbed Connor's gun and then headed for the french window, to sit down outside and brood for a while. **  
**

* * *

He didn't know what time it was, but he was so tired that he just couldn't keep watch any longer. He'd been walking around the neighbourhood for a while, all around the house without straying too far, so he could keep his mind and eyes busy, and so that maybe he could find a bunch of cigarettes. He didn't find any but did encounter quite an amount of walkers.

They made the hunter feel a bit uneasy because some of them were getting more and more interested in him, far too interested for his liking after spending so many weeks of walkers not giving him a second glance. But even with all the weirdness going on he considered them their lucky charm, a natural alarm system.  
  
They still wouldn't attack him or Connor, but they certainly were going to attack soldiers or thugs, which would end up with shots getting fired. Shots were loud, and they would know when to get the hell out of here. So he didn't mind the small herd too much. The evening was quiet and almost peaceful, and he only needed to head back inside the abandoned house when it started raining. And when he was getting way too tired.

Daryl entered the house through the French door and headed inside just before the rain really started coming down. He took a deep breath because he was quite exhausted from the shift and then turned around to head up the stairs, because it was about damn time that Connor took over. He had still tried to delay the shift changeover for as long as possible, because even now he still feared that the Irishman could take off without him. But his body told him that he was too tired, and he knew Connor too well by now. His friend wouldn't just do that. Probably.

It wasn't too hard to find the blonde up here, because only one door to his left was closed. The hunter had a small private smile on his face because he planned on scaring the shit out of his friend to wake him up. What he didn't expect though when he opened the door, was to find the bed empty.  
  
For a moment his heart stopped beating and his eyes widened in shock because this couldn't be true.Connor couldn't have left without him. He opened the door even more, panic rushing over him until he nearly had a heart attack when he heard a gentle sniff somewhere to his left. He opened the door even further and then saw his friend sitting there in the corner, on a chair that was facing the window.

He was sitting there face down, healthy hand shielding his face as gentle rhythmic sniffs could be heard, and Daryl knew what was going on right away. He was even more surprised by that than seeing the room empty. Connor leaving to find his brother had been a plausible scenario. But seeing the guy sitting there and falling back into his old patterns even after finding out that his brother was still alive was something absolutely unexpected. The hunter walked over to his friend, not really sure how to react or what to do, but he really wanted to know what was going on.

"Hey" he said gently and Connor startled a bit.

The Irishman sat up straight and wiped his face on the old jacket he was wearing after having found it somewhere up here.  
He sniffed loudly and then looked at Daryl, blinking rapidly and cracking a smile.

"Oh, hey. Didn't hear ye. My time t'watch over the house?" he asked and sorted his clothes with another awkward sniff.

Daryl just stood there and watched his friend with a worried frown.  
There was awkward silence for a moment, and it was still far too obvious that Connor had been very upset just a minute earlier.

"Why you crying?" Daryl asked quietly and carefully, walking around the room a bit because he didn't like the situation at all.  
  
It wasn't like he -couldn't- handle it. They had been there. Many times before. Back on the farm. And this was exactly the point. Connor had been 'fine' after the farm. Better at least. Better than he'd ever seen him. He wasn't supposed to be like that now, and it even scared the hunter a bit. Connor snorted and wiped his cheeks once more.

"Crying? You stupid? 'm not crying. Cryin's fer pussies. Just don't have any Kleenex on me" he said and then looked at Daryl, cracking a smile which the hunter destroyed by cocking an eyebrow, making it clear that he saw right through the act. Connor sniffed once again and then turned his head to look out of the window with a headshake.

"Jesus" he muttered and it was quiet yet again.

"Guess those are just…tears of joy. I mean, m'twin's alive. I'm just happy. Cryin, cos I'm so happy I am" he said and nodded to himself, as if he was trying to reassure himself. He remembered Romeo's choice of words. Good old Romeo. Gay guns and crying. He wasn't like that. Nope. Not at all. Hard men doing hard shit and all.

"Yeah. You look real happy" Daryl said sarcastically and folded his arms, just standing there and waiting for an explanation because he was really curious and worried.  
He didn't get the Irishman, even after all these months he couldn't really read him.

"Fuck" Connor said and leaned forward on the chair to rub his eyes.

Silence yet again. Rain drumming on the window pane and sill.

"We're gonna find 'im. Don't worry" Daryl muttered, because this was all he could come up with, awkwardly trying to make his friend feel better somehow. Connor snorted and shook his head.

"It ain't fuckin that" he muttered and watched the rain to gather strength for a while.  
He finally turned his head and looked at Daryl, no longer faking a smile and actually showing emotions.

"I can't fuckin stop thinking about that day. The last time I saw him, the last time he saw me, I…I fuckin _shot_ him, man" he said, his voice quivering a bit because he was close to tears because of the terrible memories. "Right in the head. M'own twin brother. I nearly killed 'im. How.." he let out a frustrated sigh and then seemed to get angry.

"How on earth is he sapposed t'forgive me this?" he said and moved in the chair a bit, to contain his anger.

"I mean I saw all those fucking documentaries and shit about that. Headshots like tha, those made people cripples. Drooling illiterate cripples with…with memory loss or..or paralysis and people with half their skulls missing and..Jesus fuckin Christ, my headshots usually blew brains and eyes out and killed people!"

He scratched his bandaged hand nervously and almost manically, gradually riling himself up.

"Even if we're going ta find him in Savannah, he ain't gonna fergive me that shit. God knows if he even remembers me. God…god knows what he looks like now, half his skull could be missing cos of me and I ain't fuckin sure if I can live with that. Seeing it every day, seeing all tha fuckin pain and hurt in his eyes and fuck.."

His eyes were really watery by now, and he was close to absolutely losing it.  
Daryl just stood there, paralyzed by everything he was hearing, unable to do anything about it just now.

"I destroyed fuckin -everything- between us with that shot. I just know it, because I cannot feel a fucking thing. I can't feel 'im anymore. I know it sounds cheesy and cliché, but we _did_ have a connection and what I had with me brother was fucking special and even if we do find him all of that is fuckin gone and it is all my fucking fault. He can be standing right in front of me but he's gonna be changed because of me. The Murph I knew and fuckin loved is dead no matter what, cos _I_ killed 'im, man."

"Connor" Daryl managed to say, trying to stop his friend from talking about all that.  
But the Irishman wouldn't stop, he was only getting started. He suddenly got up and started pacing around the room.

"And I know that it's a fucked up thing ta say and I'm so -happy- and glad that he's still alive, but part of me wishes that tha shot had been fatal. Because fer real, just look at this fuckin world, man" he said and pointed out of the window, at the shuffling corpses on the street that were only being illuminated by lighting every couple of minutes.

"You were right back at that office when we got there. It _is_ a fucked world and I blew it because I was selfish. Because of me there's no fuckin cure in this world, no hope, it's all walking dead people and cannibalism and rape and wars and fucking running running running and I don't want him in a world like that. He doesn't deserve ta live in a world like this. He's sapposed ta be up there in the fields of the lord and rest in peace without suffering. Even before all this shit started I always worried too much about 'im and I just can't fuckin take it. Losing him a second time sooner or later and I just fuckin…"

A hard slap suddenly snapped him out of his manic state, and he finally realized that Daryl was standing right in front of him, staring at him.

"Just shut up" the hunter said matter of factly and looked him right in the eye.

"He's your brother. You say you're his big bro, then fucking act like it" he said and Connor tried to walk away from him, not wanting to hear it, but Daryl grabbed him by his shirt and kept him where he was.

"You listen to me. You do what big bros do. You find the kid, and you look after him. Sure, yah nearly killed him, but the little shit grew up with you. And if your connection really was so damn special, then he's gonna fuckin understand why yah had t'do it. Else I'm gonna make him understand. And he asked yah t'shoot him, remember? He's gonna forgive you, because that shit's forgivable. But let me tell you, if there's one thing family don't ever forgive, then it's when yah decide to abandon 'em on purpose cos you're a selfish coward."

Connor just looked at his friend, wanting to say something and defend himself, but Daryl kept going.

"All that shit on my back, all the shit with my father that Merle didn't protect me from cos he was locked up somewhere. I could forgive 'im all that because I knew he'd have done anything t'help me, because he didn't have no other choice. But if there's one thing I can't ever forgive that bastard, then it's how he abandoned my ass on purpose, drove over there _knowing_ he was gonna die and left me all alone. So you don't ever fuckin abandon your family, yah hear me? Not cos of some whiny feelings or feelings or 'heroic' bullshit. You stick together no matter what. You face all the bullshit yah gotta face as long as you're there and watch his ass."

He grabbed Connor's healthy shoulder and then squeezed hard.

"Now get your shit together and fuckin rest. Listen to me. We're gonna get going in a couple of hours, we're gonna get t'Savannah and we're gonna find him and yah two are gonna be just _fine_."

Connor nodded and sniffed awkwardly.

"Aye..aye" he repeated and then looked around the room, whereas Daryl urged him towards the bed.

"Good lord" he muttered, trying to lighten the mood a bit and make the situation less tense.

"I should get me a goddamn headshrinker award or something" he growled because he was getting fed up with the whole thing but at the same time really wanted his friend to get better. Connor did let out a surprised laugh, one that he hadn't intended and then finally did as he was told. He fell down on the bed, on his belly and buried his hands underneath the pillow that he used to rest his head on.

"Aye, ye really should" he answered, while getting in a comfortable position and fixing one eye on Daryl.  
He then gave him a little grateful smile.

Daryl nodded awkwardly and supposed that he could pretty much screw his turn to sleep. His goddamned friend was too unstable, too stirred up to keep proper watch anyway. He let out a gentle sigh. _Fucking great._ All the shit this stupid leprechaun made him do. He supposed that maybe he could get some sleep inside the car as soon as they found one, so he wanted to get back downstairs and wait until sunrise. He was halfway through the room when Connor suddenly called out from the bed.

"Wait" he said and Daryl stopped walking to turn around and look at his friend with tired eyes.

"Stay" the blonde muttered after a moment and both friends looked at each other for a while.  
  
Daryl frowned and shifted a bit.

"No. I gotta keep watch and…"

"Jesus, Daryl. Fuck the walkers. I think we're both past the 'they won't attack us' schtick now. Should any of those soldier fucks or thugs come then we're gonna hear them half a mile away cos they gotta shoot their way through all those lamebrains out there."

Daryl wouldn't move an inch, but Connor moved over on the bed to give his friend some space.

"Come on. We're both tired as fuck. And I'd rather not be fuckin alone right now. Ye see how that went."

Daryl snorted.

"Yeah" he said and let out a gentle sigh after looking at his resting friend just a while longer.

"Alright. Just let me…get our shit up here and walk the perimeter once more."


	22. Pain

**48 days ago...** **  
** **May 10th 2009, 4:04am, Savannah, Georgia**

He could hear the rhythmic wailing, moaning and gentle crying non-stop, and that didn't exactly help him sleep. Murphy started tossing and turning, facing the tiles and trying to catch some sleep, but it was useless. Not only did the constant nightmares torture him, Joyce's permanent pain made it even worse. The woman did have her good days, that was true.  
  
He'd been stuck down here for about four days now, and that had been enough time to witness the many different stages. There were nights and days where Joyce looked and acted like she was perfectly fine. Then there were days and nights like this one, when the pain didn't just keep her awake, she pretty much kept everyone awake. It didn't take long and Brie was with the woman, trying to comfort her and make it better somehow, but everyone pretty much knew that that wasn't going to change anything.

Murphy turned around once more, letting out a harsh and frustrated sigh as he put his folded hands underneath his cheek and tried to sleep on.

More whining. Gentle sobs and Brie's quiet and hushed calming words.

Murphy slowly turned on his back, so he could turn his head in the direction of the two women by the body refrigerator. For a while he just watched them, feeling incredibly tired, annoyed but also….sorry. He stared at the cold ceiling of the morgue, not only wanting the noises to stop because he wanted to sleep, but also because he didn't want the old woman to be in pain.  
  
He knew exactly what to do, because he had been thinking about it for days now. He needed to get out of here, get the stuff they needed and bring it here. This way he would make life down here a whole lot better, and they would -finally- trust him. He lifted his head up so he could look to his feet, where the door to the old elevator was. It would lead him straight up there, on top of their morgue, where the overrun hospital was with all the walkers, all the bandages, all the…pills.

Another gentle wailing sound was enough to send him over the edge.

"Alright, fuck it" he murmured after a while and got up from his mattress.

When he started walking Brie raised her head and looked at him through narrowed eyes.

"What are you doing?" she asked as the Irishman grabbed his jacket and much to her shock: the knife they had taken from him just a couple of days ago.

"Vernon! Vernon!" Brie instantly yelled and got back on her feet in horror, fearing that the younger MacManus wanted to kill them.

"Shut it! I wanna help ye!" he said and then grabbed one of their flashlights before Vernon or the other men got a chance to get up and grab him.  
The younger MacManus ran for the elevator and ripped the doors open, causing Brie to scream even more.

"No! Don't open that! He's gonna kill us all!" she roared and tried to run after Murphy, but the younger MacManus twin was faster than the old and sickly.  
He entered the pitch black elevator shaft and had a quick look around, only to run for the emergency ladder and start to climb up them.

"Wait! Hold him back!" Brie roared and he could hear the others.

"David! You don't have to do this, please! This is suicide!" Vernon called after him, up the shaft the younger MacManus eagerly climbed, but then Clive suddenly hushed the both of them. "There's walkers up there!" he reminded them and then there was more muttered talking, and a couple of minutes later Murphy heard the sudden creaking of the elevator doors. When he looked back down he was quite shocked at first, because he was high above the ground, and also because the others had closed the doors yet again, leaving him all alone in the dark elevator shaft.

"Nice way ta fuckin thank me!" he yelled back down and then froze when he heard the shuffling of feet above him. The groaning and smell told him enough about all the walkers who were probably waiting for him up this ladder, and that certainly added to the creepy atmosphere of the whole complex. He couldn't believe that he'd been sleeping right next to this creepy thing for the past couple of days.

He held on to the ladder with one hand and then used his other hand to cross himself with closed eyes, praying for god to protect him and not letting him fall or anything like that. This hadn't really been his plan, to get locked up in this creepy elevator shaft, but he knew it in his guts that he had never really been one to come up with good plans. The younger MacManus really wanted to do this though, to help Joyce, do some good and finally get some peace down there.

Four days he had spent watching the group, how they worked, interacted, what they talked about and what they did, and he was convinced that they weren't bad people. Not like those soldiers back in Boston, and certainly not like those people in Augusta. He had been very careful not to tell them about his immunity, careful not to show them all of his scars, and so far it had worked. Not one single incident, they were protected down here, the sewers were a perfect maze to keep attackers away, Augusta would never find him, and he had food and shelter. He wanted this to work out, wanted to stay, so he kept going, fingers clutching around the bars of the ladder as he kept pulling himself up.

It didn't take too long until he reached the first open elevator door that led inside the hospital, and he wasn't too surprised to see the countless walkers up here. The younger MacManus waited until one particularly ugly walker lady shuffled past the door, so he could climb inside the hospital with an awkward huff. He could see them all staggering around the corridors, some of them in hospital gowns, others wearing doctor's suits or normal clothes.  
  
The place was absolutely crowded with walkers, and despite the fact that Murphy was immune it still sent a shiver down his spine and scared him. He didn't want to picture what the place had been like during the early days of the outbreak, with doctors trying to help bitten patients, only to get bitten in return and making the whole thing even worse.

He carefully walked among the walkers, down the corridors, looking inside several rooms to check out if he could find any pills or other medicine. There was a part in him that remembered that this looked exactly like in one of the many movies he had watched with his brother, his stupid stupid brother who had annoyed him with this stuff all the time. It made him frown and maybe a bit angry. Of course his poor abused brain would remember useless shit like watching horror movies late at night, but then forget all about the important details like the rest of his family. His mother's and father's names, whether he'd had a family of his own, what the little girl's name had been, if she had been his daughter and so on.

Murphy shook his head with an angry frown, cursing himself for getting lost in thoughts yet again. He did that a lot, all the time, wondering who he had been and what had happened before all this, and sometimes he did this when it was really inconvenient. Like right now, when he was surrounded by undead people. The younger MacManus half-jogged half-tiptoed his way through the overrun hospital, checking out rooms, receptions, always on the lookout for any unwanted guests like those Crawford guys or walkers who got too interested in him.

It was then when he noticed a room further left, where he could see countless shelves through a large window. Shelves that were filled with a load of little packages of pills and other medicine. And the best part about it all was that the room wasn't locked, the door wide open, inviting him in to take whatever he needed.

Murphy looked up at the ceiling, left hand automatically grasping for something on his chest that wasn't even there. He thanked god for always looking after him and wouldn't fight the smile that broke through as he crossed himself yet again. The dark-haired MacManus then jogged over to the room, grabbing one of the countless plastic bags from the trash on the floor so he could use it to put the pills in there.

Half the shelves were empty from the early days of the outbreak, when everyone had needed medicine or just stolen it for the sake of having it. But even with all of those packages gone there was still enough there for the Irishman to take, and after looking for antibiotics and painkillers he just put everything in the bag that he could possibly find. Maybe the walkers really were useful now, because they had kept other people from looting the place before him.

The situation was scary and dangerous but it still made him smile because he knew that he could handle himself just fine, without his brother, without Simmons or anyone else. It also made him smile because he knew that it was going to help an old lady. He hurried and threw everything inside the bag so he could get out of here, because even with all his luck and belief he was still getting creeped out by the constant groaning, the shuffling of feet, the smell and the darkness.  
  
When he turned around he let out a surprised gasp, because one of the walkers was suddenly right inside the room with him, an doctor that had once been just about his age, with one arm missing, and a terrible hole in his belly. The walking corpse was moving around slowly and almost lazily, blocking the exit and occasionally staring at Murphy, head cocked and tired moans escaping his mouth every once in a while.

It had been almost a year since he had been bit, but the sight of the undead so close to him still sent a shiver down his spine and paralyzed the younger MacManus twin. He stood there opposite the walker, staring at him with wide eyes and clenching his fists as he tried to stay in control, but his hands still started shaking. He tried to make himself feel better by talking and maybe joking, to hide the fact that he was absolutely terrified by the undead's presence.

"Hey there, Doc. Ye know a thing or two about cancer patients? What should I get?" he asked the walker and tried to smile, only to flinch when the undead suddenly looked right at him and then shuffled in his direction with a low growl. Murphy backed off and ran right into a shelf behind him, back connecting with the plastic and sending a couple of packages flying down to the ground because of the impact. He had forgotten all about the fact that the undead were still attracted to noise and speech.

"No" he gasped and turned his head to the side as the undead kept coming closer and closer, until he was standing right in front of him and started sniffing on him, his face, and then finally his neck. Murphy was really shaking by now, eyes squeezed shut because of the fear and terror. It wasn't like he was a scared little bunny, he could usually keep it under control, stay calm and even kill many of the walkers. But it was the closeness like this that really terrified him, because it reminded him of that terrible day in Boston, the day that had changed everything for him.

_The walker, right behind him. Teeth piercing his skin and pulling, yanking and tearing at his flesh. The terrified scream that escaped his mouth right then and there, the struggle, the panic, the incredible pain in his shoulder as he tried to pull the undead away from his shoulder. And then there he was, Connor, just down the street. Staring at him with wide eyes as the undead kept pulling and biting and sending waves of blood running down his neck and shoulder. The staring right at each other, the look on his brother's face and then his screams._

_NO! MURPH!_

And here he was, with another undead right in front of him, just standing there and sniffing on him like a dog inspecting a dirty sock.  
Murphy could hardly stand because he was trembling so hard, squeezing his eyes even more shut and fighting tears.

"No!" he shouted once again and then shoved the walker away. He knew that he should probably kill the former doctor because he was one of the couple of undead who were getting too interested in him despite his 'invisibility', but right now he couldn't do anything. He needed to run, away from the threat, away from the terrible memories. So he grabbed his bag and clenched his hand to a tight fist as he started running, back to the elevator, back to his new group, and away from his painful past.

* * *

"Pain killers. Antibiotics, bandages, vitamins and whole lotta other stuff I got no idea what it's sapposed ta be good for" Murphy announced and threw the plastic bag right at Vernon's feet. The old man was standing there in front of him, pistol pointed at the Irishman's chest, with Brie standing right next to him. About a second later Clive and Boyd came to join them by the elevator door, where the Savannah group was standing and keeping the younger MacManus from getting back inside their morgue.

20 Minutes. That's how long it had taken the younger MacManus to get the stuff they needed from the hospital. For a moment everyone just looked at him, then Vernon finally crouched down to get the bag and have a look inside. Murphy used the time to walk past the group, closing the elevator door behind him and then heading for his mattress in the corner.

Truth be told: it had been easier than he had thought. He was still out of breath and his heart was pounding in his chest, but there had been no real complications apart from the one 'incident'. He had been scared, that was true, because it was a creepy dark hospital in the middle of the night that was filled with walkers, the monsters that had caused him so much pain about a year ago. But now he was out of there, he had the medicine that Joyce needed, he had done it and he sure as hell had proven himself big time.

The past was done. Locked up with those things up there. And he was back down here, with the people he wanted to make his new family. He could see the surprise in their eyes as they took a closer look at all the medicine he had gathered for them. So selflessly, without getting harmed, coming back here and not bearing a grudge after they had treated him almost like a dog for the past couple of days.

Murphy sat back down on his mattress, taking a deep breath and trying to calm himself down as he got rid of his jacket and knife. He had also 'borrowed' a couple of old newspapers and magazines from one of the waiting rooms, simply so he could entertain himself and distract his mind. He leaned against the wall, grabbed one of the magazines and almost hid behind the cover, so he didn't have to face the rest of the group any longer and keep them to their medical supplies and opinions.

It only took them a couple of minutes and then Brie walked over to him, just standing in front of him for a while to watch him read his magazine.  
Murphy would look up every now and then, giving her a stubborn frown until she finally started talking.

"How did you do that?" she asked, now no longer looking hostile, now she looked grateful and maybe even stunned.

"Going up there, getting the stuff we need without a scratch, a bite or anything like that? How did you..." she examined as she looked at his clothes, his hair and his face. Everything was clean and neat, just like before he had left them. Murphy slowly put the magazine down, biting the inner side of his cheek as he turned his head and watched how the other men gave wailing Joyce some of the pills he had gotten for them. After about a minute Vernon turned his head because he could feel that he was being watched. The old man just looked as stunned and puzzled, but after a moment of looking right at each other he smiled at Murphy with a gentle nod while mouthing a grateful 'thank you'.

Murphy nodded and smiled back. It was an innocent honest smile that made him look so much younger again, and he turned his head to share it with Brie.  
He wanted her to know that he considered this their chance to start over, that maybe she should stop treating him like he was their enemy.

"God's watching over me" he said and then automatically stroke his right lower arm, the one with the tattoo.

It just had to be like that. All the dangerous situations he had survived. A bite, a headshot, Boston and Augusta, now this hospital and god knows what other things were going to happen to him sooner or later. He could feel every single tattoo on his body, every religious sign, and he knew that it was true. He had god on his side. It was his mission to help the good and fight the evil. And he certainly didn't need his stupid brother with him as long as he had these people, as long as he had god with him.

After months of struggling with his injuries, the many 'why?' questions, after losing everyone and everything, his family, his friends, his home, his past and himself he finally felt good again. Doing nice selfless things for people in need made him feel good. He just knew it in his guts that from this day on everything was going to get better again. So he kept smiling at Brie, almost sheepishly, until she finally returned a tiny smile and walked back to her group.

* * *

**48 days later** **  
** **June 28th 2009, 01:02am, Augusta, Georgia**

Daryl stared at the ceiling, head resting on his arms, listening to the rain outside. Connor was still tossing and turning right next to him, fighting the pillow, the blanket, whatever he got hold of to fight the obvious fact that he was far too nervous and excited to sleep. The hunter couldn't sleep either, not only because of moving Connor right next to him, but also because he worried just as much about the next day. He knew that they weren't too far from Connor's brother, and despite the fact that he obviously hated the guy he was actually quite curious himself.

One year of hearing Connor talk about the kid. Over and over again. And now he was going to meet him, after hearing everything. Every last detail of his life, what he had looked like, what he hated or liked, it felt like he knew -everything- about this Murphy kid by now, although they had never seen each other in person before. He was curious if they really looked like each other, if the kid was going to be like Connor because they were twins, and most importantly: how -Murphy- was going to handle the situation with him being in the picture now, him being a part of Connor's life.

Part of him couldn't wait to fight that little bastard over this. Maybe punch him a couple of times, and express his hatred.  
To show him who was better for the Irishman. Because the little shit was the reason why Connor had nearly managed to get himself killed multiple times.

Another movement right next to him, and the rustling of the sheets.

Daryl turned his head abruptly and stared at the man next to him. Connor was lying there, back turned on him, the leg with the twisted ankle resting on top of the blanket rather than underneath it. He could see how the Irishman was slowly rocking his foot back and forth, back and forth, stroking the surface nervously and making the bed shake which each of his movements.  
  
The first thought that crossed Daryl's mind was how ridiculous Connor looked in his jeans. They didn't really fit his skinny ass, and it was just weird seeing them on someone else. When the Irishman moved his arms yet again and fought his pillow his friend finally had enough. He turned on his side and moved closer to the blonde, so he could catch the moving arm midair, hold it in place and squeeze hard.

"Will yah fuckin stop movin now?" he growled and Connor turned his head to look right at him with an angry frown.

"Fuck ye. I can't fuckin sleep" the Irishman answered and tried to fight the hunter, but his friend wouldn't let go.

"Me neither if yah keep tossing and turning like that. Jesus" Daryl answered and then relaxed a bit, but he wouldn't let go of Connor just yet.

Both men then stared at the ceiling for a while, lost in thoughts, breathing even and almost in sync.

"Listen" Connor suddenly said and Daryl turned his head to look at him.

"I know yer not really fond of all this. Te Murphy thing and everything. You've made it pretty clear that ye cannot stand me brother.  
For whatever reason."

The hunter turned his head away when he heard this and this time it was Connor who looked at him.

"Ye don't have ta do all this if it just annoys the crap outta you. If ye wanna go back t'Woodbury you can do that.  
Get yer sleep, food, without having to run from soldiers and crap like that.  
Ye don't have ta stick around and pretend that yer okay with te whole thing."

Daryl snorted and shook his head bitterly.

"So what, now that yah almost got yah brother back you throw me away like a used rubber?"

Connor frowned angrily.

"Fuck you! It ain't like that" he snapped, and maybe a bit too loud.

There was silence for a long while as Connor let out a gentle sigh and then rubbed the bridge of his nose.  
He was more than tired, but his pounding heart kept him awake.

"I just meant….I get it. If I were in a situation like you, I'd act the same way. No fuck that, I _was_ in a situation like that, and I acted the same way. I get that yer jealous of me cos I got my brother back. And…I'm really sorry that you lost yers. Honestly" the Irishman said and looked his friend in the eye. Daryl just looked back at him, lips a harsh line and brows furrowed. "But see it from my point of view. I mean, Jesus. You can't fuckin put me in a bed and watch over me like a watch dog, and then expect that I'm just gonna sleep like a log when my brother's like _three_ hours away from me" the Irishman explained, and Daryl just stared at him.

"So what. Yah want me t'get back to Woodbury and let yah walk around like a headless chicken? Yah wanna walk through this door over there, _right now,_ just cos you can't wait one more fuckin night and leave with me? Fine. Maybe I can finally get some fucking sleep then. Have fun getting your ass shot to shit by some soldiers or thugs" he grumbled and turned his back on his friend.

He was grumpy and he was hurt, and the lack of sleep only made it worse. Now it really sounded like Connor was trying to get rid of him, just because the freaking world revolved around fucking Murphy now, because that stupid idiot wouldn't let him sleep. Because -he-, the one who had managed to get Connor out of this whole mess, wasn't important, because it wasn't important what -he- needed. It was all about Connor's brother now, and if it kept going like that then he didn't need this shit anyway.

He hated how his friend could be so ignorant from one second to the next, how he thought so many wrong things. Connor thought he was jealous of -him-. As fucking if. Maybe part of him was, that was true. He was jealous that his friend had his 'dead' brother back whereas Merle was really dead. But he'd had his brother back before all this, he'd spent many years on his own without Merle, and it had been about a month since his brother's death. He was still very upset, still mourned his death, but he wasn't jealous of Connor. He was jealous of _Murphy_. He didn't want to freaking share, why wouldn't the stupid Irishman get that?

"Why'd ye gotta be such a grumpy fuckin asshole all the time?!" Connor suddenly snapped and hit Daryl's side hard, which made the hunter gasp and groan in pain. He flinched because the touch sent a wave of hot sharp pain through his entire body. The Irishman had hit him right on his broken rip, and the younger of the two friends instantly shielded his side with a hand to protect it from further hits. It was exactly like back in the old days, when his father had hit his bruises and broken bones on purpose, over and over again, because he knew how much it hurt. He tried to roll away a bit to hide the fact that he was grimacing with pain, but Connor had already seen it.

"Fuck, did I hurt you?" he asked in surprised and instantly moved closer to his friend, but Daryl tried to stay out of his reach.

"Fuck off" he muttered and rubbed his aching side, hoping to stop the pain with the touch.

But Connor wouldn't back off. He stayed that close, eyes piercing his friend's back and waiting for an explanation.  
The pain was still stinging in his rips but slowly subsiding, and Daryl just stared at the wall opposite him and then finally spoke after a good three minutes of waiting.

"That one guard guy broke my damn rip, 's all" he muttered and kept rubbing his side.

"What?! When? Why the fuck didn't ye tell me?" Connor protested and moved even closer to get his hands on his friend, despite Daryl's tries to fight him off. He eventually stilled and let his friend fuzz over him, while he just stared at the opposite wall.

"When they sent me to this freaking hospital. I didn't wanna go with em and get the shit that was gonna kill yah, so that asshole forced me to do it by breaking my goddamn bones."

Connor moved his friend's shirt up, much to the latter's discomfort.  
Daryl shifted awkwardly and tried to get away, to hide the large bruises and his old and countless scars.  
There was a long pause after that, as Connor just stared at his friend's torso with wide eyes.

"Why didn't ye tell me?" he repeated breathy, which made Daryl snort and shift yet again.

"'s not like you'd care. It's all Murphy Murphy Murphy and yah whiny feelings 'bout that brat. Ever since we got outta that shithole."

Connor just stared at his friend, trying to look him in the eye but then fixing his gaze on Daryl's bruised torso.

And he finally got it.

Fuck.

He'd been so selfish. So full of himself, his family, his past, present and future without giving a damn shit about his best friend and what he was doing for him. Daryl had always been there. Looking after him, saving him, protecting him like, well, just like he'd said it. Like a guard dog. Just today the guy had jumped into a river, dragged him out of there, getting him to breathe, then he had practically half carried him to this house, taken care of his ankle, listened to all his endless talk about Murphy.  
  
Especially during all the talking he had seen that expression on his friend's face. Every single time, the typical look on his face and then the turning his head and staring down. Yes, Daryl was grumpy and jealous. But he wasn't jealous of him, he was jealous of _Murphy_. This wasn't about Merle, maybe just a part of it, but the rest of it was about _him_. And he had kept the fact that his brother was alive from him just so they wouldn't get him _back_.

"Jesus" he muttered and then put his hand on the large bruise, carefully and gently so he wouldn't hurt his friend even more. Daryl still flinched and tried to move out of his reach, just like any other time somebody was trying to touch him without his actual permission. But Connor kept going, looking at the bruises and then caressing them a couple of times with his palm and thumb. He knew that he couldn't do much about a broken rip, but he wanted to acknowledge what his friend had done for him.

"Fuck off" the hunter said yet again, but his voice lacked the strength because he was simply too tired.  
Connor finally lay back down, all his own problems and thoughts momentarily forgotten while he kept stroking his friend's bruised side.

He hated how he had treated Daryl just minutes ago, because he wasn't like that. Back in his old life, prior the apocalypse, he'd never had many friends. Drinking buddies down at the pub? Yes. But other than that he'd never really needed many friends, because Murphy had been his soul mate. They'd had Rocco in their life, their only real and tight friend back in Boston apart from good old Doc, and he'd hardly ever treated them the way he was treating Daryl sometimes. He wanted to be a good friend even with Murphy in the picture, and since he knew the hunter's many problems and complexes he knew that he certainly needed to work on that.

So he tried to lie back down, ignoring his pounding heart, the anticipation, and just lay right next to Daryl, moving closer and closer until his chest and tights connected with Daryl's back and legs. He wrapped his arm around his friend's waist below the bruise so he wouldn't hurt him even more and just held him. Daryl kept struggling and kicking a bit, just like back on the farm, but Connor wouldn't let go or give in. He wanted his friend to understand that he didn't have to be jealous, that he was right here, that he was just as important as his own brother.

"It's not just about Murph" he said quietly, into the back of Daryl's neck, but there was a part of him that wasn't too sure about that. It certainly was going to get very complicated, because he had never been in a situation like this before, because he wasn't sure if he could handle two tight relationships at once, and no matter how much he hated to admit it: Murphy always came first. Daryl just snorted and shifted, still trying to fight his friend off because this was more than awkward.

"Yeah, sure" he growled, low self-esteem showing yet again, like he was sensing his friend's train of thoughts.

Connor clung even more to him, trying to hold on and make it alright.

"Really" he muttered and Daryl stilled, turning his head an looking at him, questioningly, looking for a confirmation that the words were true.  
Connor looked back at him for a while, eyes flicking between his friend's eyes and mouth.

"I just…" he muttered and there was a long pause after that. They kept looking at each other until the Irishman suddenly dropped his head down yet again, crashing their lips together and holding on to his friend as if his life depended on it. He wanted him to understand that he was freaking important to him, that he wasn't worthless or unimportant after everything they had been through, and after hitting Connor's back multiple times and struggling really hard for a while Daryl suddenly clung to him just as much, and that just frustrated Connor even more.  
  
Because it didn't feel right, because he had to admit that this wasn't what he really meant or wanted right now anyway. He could feel and actually knew how much his friend needed him after losing Merle, and that just made him even angrier. He let out a muffled and frustrated groan and then turned his head to look away, breaking the kiss and leaving Daryl out of breath, angry and completely confused.

"Fuck, it's just..." the blonde said and bit his lower lip, trying to keep himself from longing for his brother because there were some many things wrong with that in this very moment, and that was exactly the point. He couldn't do this shit right now. Not when he wanted his twin brother with him, and his twin brother made it worse. Because Daryl looked like him, and he wasn't supposed to freaking kiss someone with that face like that. It certainly wasn't like he wanted his brother in any way like he wanted his best friend sometimes. That would be a sin, that was absolutely disgusting and made him want to vomit. And it were thoughts like this that kept him from doing anything with Daryl now.

So many opportunities, so many chances to make stuff right between them, but he just couldn't do it, say it, act like it. His entire body, every single cell screamed for Murphy right now, wanted to be reunited with _him_ , and he just couldn't lie to himself. Couldn't lie to Daryl and say that he wanted anything or anyone else in this moment.

"'s just…real fuckin complicated right now" he admitted and stared at the ceiling.

If it weren't for Murphy then those couple of days could have been the perfect opportunity to move forward in their relationship. To get better, to make each other better, to make everything less violent, less painful and more mature. But he was too torn, too messed up, and he just knew that he couldn't possibly fix himself, his brother, his relationship with his brother, his friend with his difficult childhood, and the progression of their relationship in one go. He had to choose and divide his energy, and there certainly wasn't enough for everything and everyone at once. And no matter how much he hated it, Murphy -was- more important than Daryl right now. At least for today. And tomorrow. And the first couple of days after they had found him.

Daryl would have to wait. He needed to get his head around this later. Because despite Murphy, despite all the other shit there was the other main problem to it all, that added to the confusion and made it even more ridiculous. He wasn't fucking gay. Didn't want to be anything like it, and he knew that Daryl thought just the same about it. It was a sin, they had both been raised like that, to dread it and think of it as something wrong, and yet the shit had still happened somehow. He didn't know how he was supposed to wrap his head around that fucked up stuff either, and he didn't want to do it right now, so he just postponed everything.  
  
Thinking about it. Doing it. Talking about it. He and Daryl were just good _friends_ right now. End of discussion. And although he didn't really speak it out his friend still seemed to catch up on it, how reluctant and quiet Connor was all of a sudden. Not saying anything said enough sometimes, so the hunter just turned his head again, shifting until he was in a comfortable position, back turned on the Irishman and closing his eyes, pretending that nothing had happened anyway because it was too awkward, too new, and so not him.

"Yeah" he just said, and the topic was done for him.

Connor sighed and rubbed his forehead, feeling awkward because of the direction the conversation had taken. For a while he just lay there, trying to come up with anything else to say to save the situation, but he knew that everything had been said. "Let's sleep" he just said, trying to finish the topic with this. He thought about wrapping an arm around the hunter's waist anyway, but since he knew that Daryl hated physical contact no matter what he left it be. He just lay there, on his back, staring at the ceiling and keeping some space between them, so the whole friendship vibe was back on. They wouldn't speak about it, wouldn't name it or do anything else, but they both understood it, set up boundaries yet again and tried to sleep.

* * *

_**the next morning** _

The sun was tickling on his skin, slowly heating it and burning it because of the sheer temperatures of the early summer in Georgia.  
Connor slowly opened his eyes, confused because he didn't know what had awoken him from his deep sleep.

It had taken him quite some time to fall asleep yesterday night, but exhaustion had eventually won. All the running around, swimming, hiding and the emotional turmoil had given him the rest, and he had actually appreciated the deep sleep. But now here he was, in broad sunlight, lying in the bed of a bunch of people who were long since dead, and he didn't know what the fuck had ripped him out of that sweet state of being. About a second later he got the answer, because he could feel a hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing and moving him.

"Leprechaun" he heard Daryl say and finally understood what was off - he was all alone in this bed, and he wasn't the first to wake up, despite the importance of this day.

"Come on, get up" the hunter behind him said and the Irishman finally shifted, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

"What time is it?" he asked, out of habit, despite the obvious lack of clocks and time in this new world.

"Don't know. I found us a car though" the younger of the two friends said and Connor was wide awake, staring at him, excitement showing in his eyes as his heart rate sped up. He could see that his friend was fully clothed and obviously looked like he had been awake for quite some time now.

"Really?" he asked and Daryl nodded as he turned around to grab their stuff.

"Yeah. Hurry. Something's off down there. And I sure as hell ain't gonna stick around long enough to find out where the fuck all these lamebrains went" the hunter stated and then headed for the door. Connor slowly sat up with a soft groan, hair sticking in every direction as he rubbed his eyes once more and yawned yet again. He turned his head to look outside the window, only to discover that his friend was right about the neighbourhood. It was completely abandoned, no sight of walkers or any threats. It sure was weird, and it even seemed dangerous to him, but despite all this he still couldn't fight the sudden smile that broke through.

Another day.

They had a car, and they were ready to leave this godforsaken city, which meant only one thing: They were going to Savannah.

He was going to see Murphy again.

And he wouldn't sleep until he found his brother out there, somewhere, and they were getting closer and closer. He was going to get Murphy back. Maybe even… He smiled even more and then chuckled gently, jumping out of bed and hurrying after Daryl, running down the stairs like a child on Christmas morning.

Maybe even _today_.


	23. Stairway To Heaven

**33 days ago...** **  
** **May 28th 2009, 2:59pm, Hospital Morgue, Savannah, Georgia**

Murphy was sitting in his corner, resting on the old mattress on the ground as he kept scribbling on his spare sheets of paper. It wasn't like he was still sleeping here, now that the group had grown on him and accepted him he was actually sleeping with the others on the beds of the body refrigerator, no matter how freaky it really was.

But he had kept the mattress in the corner by the elevator, so he could use it as his personal little corner and keep his distance from the rest of the group from time to time. Being down here with them was rather nice, but since there were only two and a half rooms for them it was pretty hard to get some alone time sometimes.

The younger MacManus had been quite surprised when he suddenly felt the urge to draw something, but it had soon turned out to be one of his favourite new hobbies. It wasn't like they had a working television, games or newspapers and magazines down here anyway, and when he wasn't busy looking after their supplies or keeping their morgue clean he liked to keep himself busy with something.

There were a couple of books down here and it certainly wouldn't be a problem for him to get new ones from the old stores back on street level, but since he still had some trouble reading longer passages he just stuck to drawing. Even this was still a bit of a problem, because sometimes his hand didn't quite listen to what his brain told it to do, but he was getting there.

So he was sitting in his corner, drawing faces, skylines and whatever came to his mind. Sometimes he just wanted to draw the darkest stuff, get rid of all the demonic faces of walking corpses and trigger happy soldiers, but he tried not to spoil his couple of papers. He stuck to other happier things instead. Lingering shapes, houses and faces in his subconscious. The younger MacManus even recognized some of it. He drew green hills, sheep, horses and tiny huts a lot, and didn't really have to question it. He loved to draw Ireland, what he pictured it to be like, although he really couldn't remember much of it.

Then there were days when he loved to draw sharp, rectangular figures, houses, skyscrapers and old churches, buildings he actually did remember, although they had been on fire last time he had seen them. Boston. During the darker days he liked to draw his old hometown, because no matter how much he actually missed it, deep down there was always pain connected to that city.

However, today was one of the days were he wanted to draw faces. He couldn't remember any of their names although they seemed familiar. Well, he couldn't remember all except for one. The dark-haired man looked at the face on his sheet, the one he tried to fully remember but had a hard time doing so. Not only because of his memory loss, but also because seeing that face hurt.

He was drawing his brother a lot.

He didn't care what it looked like, if he looked like he had been drawn by a five year old or if it was a true Picasso, he just wanted to give that man a face. He wanted him here, with him, face to face, although part of him still didn't know if he wanted him here just to stare at him and hate him, yell at him for shooting and leaving him, or if he wanted Connor's face with him just so that he was -with- him. So he didn't feel too alone. And so that he wouldn't forget him.

"Who's this?" he heard a voice say and startled. Murphy looked up in surprise, only to see Brie standing right in front of him, hand resting on her hip as she looked down on him and even smiled a bit. The younger MacManus just looked at her, frowning a bit, because he wasn't too sure if she was having him on or if she really decided to play nice. "'s nothin" he answered and quickly put the drawings away, to hide them from her and everyone else in the group. Brie just stood there and watched him for a while, noticing how wary Murphy was, so she turned her head to look at her group.

"I just came here to….." she let out a sigh and looked back at the Irishman.

"I'm sorry for treating you like that before. I actually came here to apologize?" she said and kept looking at him.

Murphy eventually realized that she was being honest, so he awkwardly shifted a bit, scratched his nose and then smirked a little.

"Aye" he just said and Brie nodded.

"It's just that..we've lost many good people to others who were basically strangers to us."

Murphy looked at the woman, seeing regret, pain, but also anger. He nodded slowly.

"Gracie?" he asked gently and Brie looked a bit surprised at first, but then nodded.

"Yeah."

There was a long pause after that, and the woman used the time to look at Joyce, who was sitting on a chair close to the table and kept talking to Vernon with a smile on her face.

"But we all know now that you're not one of them. Part of Crawford, I mean" she said and then looked back at the Irishman.

"We all appreciate what you did for Joyce. Strangers like the ones we've met….they wouldn't do that for a bunch of old and ill people" she said and Murphy smiled.

"Yer good people."

Brie nodded and then offered him a hand.

"Fresh start?" she asked and Murphy examined her hand up close.

He let her wait for a bit, to make her feel uncomfortable for a moment just as payment for treating him like trash before, but then he took the hand enthusiastically and shook it with a grin.

"Aye. Fresh start."

"Welcome to the group" Brie said and let go of his hand with a smile, only to point at his bare right lower arm.

"Now I finally get to ask. You're religious?" she asked and Murphy looked at the tattoo of the cross on his arm. He scratched it a bit and then nodded.

"Aye. Very."

Brie smiled even more.

"That's nice. Me, too" she said and leaned against the wall, so she could keep their 'getting to know each other' conversation going.

"I used to live in Crawford before all this. My parents were proud believers. Sent me to a Catholic School and all that."

Murphy just nodded, feeling the sudden emptiness in his chest yet again. He didn't remember his parents or how he had been brought up, but he supposed that it had been just like that. "Well, maybe we can pray tagether next time" he suggested, feeling a bit awkward around the woman, shyness showing yet again by the way he would scratch his nose or chew on his fingernails. There was yet another pause, as Brie was obviously waiting for him to keep the conversation going, but since Murphy honestly didn't know how to do that without enough alcohol in his blood she started talking yet again.

"Listen, there's another reason why I wanted to talk to you" she said and looked at her group yet again.

Murphy looked at them as well, curiosity showing in his eyes.

"Aye?"

"Vernon and I were just talking about what you did. Back at the hospital, and everything you've told us about your stay in Boston and Augusta. W  
e think it's time" she said matter of factly and Murphy frowned.

"Time fer what?" he asked, which made Brie turn to face him.

"Now that we know that we can trust you, Vernon and I have decided to take you with us on our scavenging trips.  
We're running low on sanitary articles and need to make a run into town soon."

Murphy just looked at her for a while, not really knowing how to deal with this new information. Weeks of being down here, reading old magazines, drawing pictures, sorting supplies and cleaning toilets and he was finally allowed to step outside again. For days it had felt like the walls were slowly closing in on him, and he had always felt the need to go outside just to see a nice change of setting for once, but now that he was given the opportunity he didn't even know anymore if he really wanted it. His heart started pounding in his chest and he was getting excited, maybe even a bit scared of the possible dangers out there, but then much to his surprise he started to smile.

Fear, danger and trauma aside, he still wanted it. Face the outside world, fight and scavenge.

"'f course. Whatever ye need me t'do and get. I'm in."

* * *

**16 days ago...  
** **June 14th 2009, 8:00am, River Side, Savannah, Georgia**

They were on their sixth supply run when they first heard it. They were pretty close to Crawford, on the other side of the river, which was why they were quite nervous and the sound of ringing bells close by didn't exactly make it easier for them. Brie and Vernon were inside one of the former pharmacies and Murphy kept watch outside when they all first heard it. The rhythmic DING DONG of very old church bells, echoing across the abandoned city of Savannah, the river, right towards them. Murphy had been smoking outside the doors until then and nearly dropped the cigarette, because the sound had startled him. He raised his head and scanned the town to see where the noise was coming from, but couldn't quite make it out. Less than a minute later Brie and Vernon stormed out of the pharmacy.

"What the hell is going on out here?" Brie asked, completely out of breath and carrying few supplies.

Vernon was right behind her, staring into the distance just like Murphy, who was still trying to locate the church.

"I dunno, I was gonna ask ye the same thing!" the youngest of the three of them said but couldn't really make out the source of the ringing.

The bells kept echoing across the river, and Murphy shielded his eyes to get a better view.

"Is that the first time yer hearing this?" he asked and Brie and Vernon moved.

"Ever since the outbreak, of course" Vernon said and Murphy frowned.

"Maybe's someone who needs our help? We should go and look…"

"Don't be stupid. We need to hurry and get back to Clive, Boyd and Joyce. It could be one of Crawfords latest ideas to lure survivors out. A new trap of some sort. What we should be doing is get as far away from this place as possible" she said and started walking, past Murphy and heading for the road that led back to the bridge. Vernon passed the Irishman right after that and placed a hand on his shoulder to squeeze it gently.

"Come on, let's get going. The sun's up already, and we've got to walk back home in broad daylight this time" he reminded the newest member of their group.  
Murphy visibly tensed at the touch, because Vernon's hand was right on his healed bite wound, but he tried to hide it and started walking as well.

"Aye" he said, still staring into the distance, eyes fixed on the multiple clock towers of Savannah.

* * *

**3 days ago…  
June 27th, 5:15pm, Hospital, Savannah, Georgia**

Murphy was sitting on the roof of the hospital, leaned against the wall, blowing smoke in the air and watching birds fly around. Ever since he had found a pack of smokes in one of the almost empty shops he liked to go up here, for many reasons. The most important one was that he wanted to smoke and wasn't allowed to smoke inside the morgue with cancer patients around. But there were other reasons as well.

Although he really liked the group by now, liked the company, he still liked to be on his own sometimes, to dwell on his past, his future, and simply because he liked to be quiet. He'd picked this place because he had been the only one able to close all the elevator doors and keep the walkers inside the hospital, and because he was the only one who could really stay up here without having to fear that he could fall down the emergency ladder inside the elevator shaft, or that walkers could stumble up and eat him.

He also had a perfect view from up here. He could see the river, Memorial bridge, all the neighbourhoods, including Crawford. But he didn't just want to see Crawford, he also wanted to know where all the ringing was coming from all the time. He didn't even know why he was so interested in the church bells, maybe because his subconscious remembered that church had once been very important to him, or maybe he was just curious. Something kept calling him out here, to catch the church bell ringer in the act, to find him and ask him what was up with the ringing.

He didn't care if it was a trap, or if it really were people in need. He just needed to find this freaking church.

Murphy had heard the bells 3 times in total so far, but not once had he been able to actually make the building out. Savannah wasn't too big, but it had enough churches to make the search even more confusing, and that wasn't really the worst part about it. The group didn't want to join him on his search for the bells, and neither did they want him to leave on his own. But the more they urged him to just leave it be the more determined Murphy got, spending more and more time up on the roof with his cigarettes, magazines and drawings, hoping to see the bells moving from up here.

And the mysterious stranger certainly didn't disappoint him that day. He'd been up on the roof for about two hours when he finally heard them ringing again, the first time up on the roof. Murphy widened his eyes and dropped everything he had, to spring to his feed and start running for the binoculars that he kept with him up here. He frantically scanned Savannah's neighbourhood, searching the houses, towers, anything he could find, cursing under his breath and nervously tapping his feet.

"Come on….come on…where are ye" he hissed and looked around, running from one corner to the next. The bell tower right next to the hospital certainly wasn't the one ringing, but he was determined to find the real one. It was important somehow, he needed to go there, maybe find another bunch of people, younger people to keep him company.

"Come on!" he hissed, as he heard how the rhythm slowed down and was about to die.

It was when he almost wanted to give up when he finally saw it, the church, the tower, the moving bells further South-East, and much to his liking - far away from Crawford. "Gotcha!" Murphy exclaimed and moved the binoculars down, hoping to see it without them, but the church was too far away. He still thought to know the neighbourhood, and he was certain about one thing - the next time he heard the bells ringing he was going to head there.

With or without his group.

* * *

**3 days later** **  
** **June 30th 2009, 11:32am, Gas Station Near Nathaniel Green Park, Savannah, Georgia**

"Maybe he ain't here anymore."

Daryl stared at the man opposite him with a worried frown. His friend looked absolutely miserable by now, disappointment and lack of sleep showing and wearing him down. They had arrived in Savannah two days ago, two days of searching abandoned buildings, avoiding large herds of walkers, two days of noticing how clean the city was apart from the undead. Savannah felt like a ghost town, just like Augusta when they had first arrived there. All the cars were missing tires and parts, all the shops and houses had been looted a long time ago, and there were lots of strange signs on practically every door in the surrounding neighbourhood.

Daryl was convinced that Savannah had another fanatic military camp, judging by the freak wall they had found by the river, and he was convinced that all the red symbols on the doors were some sort of military code. And if Savannah hadn't been stripped clean and 'organized' by the military, then there certainly had to be other fanatic groups of people around, people who meant trouble, who were dangerous and who he hated. The hunter really wanted to leave the city because he knew too well that those were to dangerous and a complete waste of time, but he knew that his Irish friend wasn't going to get better by doing that. They needed to stay here, and find freaking Murphy.

Connor was standing by the former counter of the abandoned gas station they used as their temporary hideout, fingers tangled in his messy blonde hair as he was staring at their map of Savannah. Daryl had tried to get him to go to sleep, but ever since they had arrived in this city Connor had just kept working, searching, looking around and planning nonstop.  
  
He'd even gone so far to head into the city without the hunter when the latter had been trying to sleep. Something had been driving him for 48 hours straight and Daryl still couldn't believe that they had managed to search at least one quarter of the entire town, but without any luck. The city was clean, there were no tracks for him to pick up on, it was a ghost town apart from that one camp they had discovered back at a district called Crawford.

Daryl just watched his friend a bit longer, really wanting to tell him that they should leave and go back to Woodbury to get more help (and time), but he just knew that Connor really needed _him_ as emotional support right now, needed to be _here_ , needed to find his brother that the hunter hated more and more. The younger of the two friends sighed and walked over to his friend, so he could place a hand on his back and pat him gently, while pointing at the map with his other hand.

"Well, maybe he really is with those guys behind the wall. Haven't checked there yet. I mean, it's plausible. They got defences, maybe they're just like Woodbury.  
It's the best option in this city, and if the little shit is smart enough he tried his luck over there when he got here."

Connor snorted and moved away from the counter, out of his friend's reach as he headed for one of the boarded up shop windows.

"Ye saw what those fucks did yesterday. Shootin an entire family up in the middle of the street like fuckin fish in a tank.  
There's no way Murph's with people like that" he said and Daryl leaned against the counter, scratching his forehead, trying his hardest not to lose his temper.

"Well, who says they're from past the wall? Could be thugs, like back in Augusta…"

"Ye saw their guns. They had cars. And ye saw the wall and what the place looked like from up above. Those were the guys. They were heading fer the river. There's fucked up people behind that wall of…death, and Murph ain't with 'em. Maybe he left as soon as he saw 'em. Maybe they spooked him after what happened t'him back in Augusta. I…I dunno. He could be hiding up in the hills or…fields…or a farm somewhere around Savannah or….fuck.." he said and sat down on a chair, resting both his arms on the counter and then burying all his fingers in his hair yet again.

He was staring at the surface of the counter, now no longer hiding the fact that he felt miserable and frustrated.  
Daryl just stood there, watching his friend cautiously, trying to come up with anything useful to say.  
He heard Connor swallow and then sigh.

"'f fuckin course. I was foolish ta believe that we'd just be going here and find 'im right away. 's a big fucking city and just like te many times before my plan didn't fucking work" he said, obviously pitting himself yet again. Daryl tried to move closer, a bit shaky and hesitant, but he still did it.

"Well, I think yah did pretty well. Locating all the relevant shit like stores, pharmacies and places to hide, and then divide the city in hot zones and everything in just two days…" he said and pointed at Connor's countless scribblings and notes, his beyond detailed plan on locating one single person in a larger city. He really admired his friend in that regard, how he had been able to come up with all this in such a short amount of time, to be so rational and logical about it, despite the fact that he was emotionally unstable because of his twin. And oh how _that_ was showing now.

Connor just snorted, obviously not really taking his comment as a compliment. Daryl looked around the store, quite helplessly, and there was a stupid part of him that hoped that Murphy would just jump out of a freaking closet with a green stovepipe hat and start river dancing in front of them while singing ' _This is candid camera! I've been here all along!_ ' But of course this wasn't going to happen. His friend's brother remained lost, and Connor remained upset and disappointed.

"Maybe yah should just go to sleep, man" Daryl said quietly, moving awkwardly and trying to be gentle and mature for once.

"Yah ain't thinking straight nomore. There ain't no food, no booze or coffee in you and yah didn't smoke a whole day.  
Maybe yah just gotta…lie low, give your melon a break and have a fresh start later."

Connor shook his head and grabbed the map again, rubbing his tired eyes and staying where he was.

"No. 's exactly the point. So maybe he's still here, but who's here ta fuckin say that he ain't gonna leave while I'm sleeping? I can't miss 'im.  
I gotta come up with a better plan. Maybe we could try…further West. We haven't been t…"

"Connor" Daryl said and grabbed his friend's arm, to keep him from pointing at the map and working even harder. The Irishman raised his head and looked at his friend, who was just nodding and trying to signal that he was supposed to take a break. Connor just kept looking at him, looking incredibly tired and yet determined.

"What would you do if this was about Merle, hm? Just think 'bout how ye felt when ye heard that he was in Woodbury. The same town you were hiding in in that very moment. That there were only a couple of fuckin houses keeping ye from getting him back."

Daryl stilled, remembering that night, the longing, the desperate need to be reunited with his brother after almost a year of being separated from him.  
Yeah, he knew exactly what that felt like, that there was no reason to that.

"Yeah, and think 'bout where _that_ mess got us" he muttered and then looked at his friend's shoulder, the shirt that was covering the scar of the second bite wound he'd only gotten because of this night, his foolish move to stay back in Woodbury even with all these crazy people surrounding them. Connor seemed to remember that as well as the expression on his face changed, but then he looked down again and concentrated on the map.

"I don't care."

Daryl tried not to roll his eyes and walked away with an exhausted sigh.

"Murph's sharp. He let me do all the planning, but our minds were pretty much alike" Connor said in the mean time and Daryl clenched his fists, relaxed them, clenched them, relaxed them, clenched them, relaxed them rhythmically to keep his temper.

"I say we check out the rest of the city t'day, sweep the important bits later today and tomorrow once more, and if we don't find 'im then we'll move on. Search the areas around Savannah. Locate farmhouses, woods, clearances, fresh tracks like someone's been on a hunt regularly. Murph is smart enough. If he isn't here then he found himself a nice desolate little place close enough to Savannah, or another larger town so he can come back fer supplies. We just gotta find that place. Or places like tha."

"Yeah, whatever" Daryl murmured and headed for their sleeping bags in the storage room.

He just needed to get Connor out of his sight for a moment, because he feared that he could knock him out cold on purpose, just to get him to shut up and sleep and give him time to come up with a plan of his own. He was halfway down the small aisle when a sudden loud noise startled the both of them. Daryl didn't want to believe his ears at first, because it was too weird to hear something like that in a ghost town like Savannah, but here it was, loud and clear, almost deafening compared to the usual silence they were used to.

Church bells.

There were church bells ringing somewhere in their neighbourhood, and it even sounded like they weren't too far from it. He turned around to look at Connor, just to make sure that he wasn't hallucinating or anything like that, but the Irishman seemed just as astonished. He was looking out of the window to his left so Daryl did the same, walking up to the wooden planks and then peeking through one of the slits. He could see a bunch of walkers out there on the street who were reacting just as much, all slowly turning around in the direction of the noise, staring and then shuffling towards it.

No hallucination. There were definitely church bells ringing somewhere close to them.

"Jesus fuck Christ" he heard Connor say all of a sudden and turned around to look at his friend with a frown.

A tiny part of his brain acknowledged the irony in the Irishman's choice of words right then and there.

"Why didn't I come up with this shit" the blonde said and kept staring out of the window with wide eyes, which made Daryl frown even more.

"What?"

Connor pointed out of the window and looked at Daryl like he was facing a mentally handicapped person.

"Churches!" he exclaimed, but only confused his younger friend even more.

"Yeah, freaking churches usually made noise like that... With y'all fanatic worshipping crap and callin people to mass brainwashing?" Daryl just said, not really getting what his friend was aiming at. Connor jumped up from the chair and suddenly tried to run for the door, but since Daryl was close enough to that he managed to get hold of his friend before he got to do anything stupid.

"Woah, woah, chill out Padre, I think you and I both know that your little head shrinking sessions in places like that stopped a long time ago" he said and tried to hold Connor back, to keep him from running out in the open like a headless chicken without a real plan or cover. Connor suddenly fought him way harder and aggressive than necessary and stared at him with angry eyes. "No, don't you fuckin get it!" he spat and Daryl frowned even more, now seemingly offended by the way he was getting yelled at.

"Sure as hell don't! Just calm down, yah wacko!" he snapped back, but Connor was far from letting go.

"Back when we first met, where did ye fuckin find me? Where did I go when I thought I was all on me fuckin own surrounded by death and danger?" he asked, all excited and almost panicked. Daryl no longer looked angry, he had a blank look on his face as he remembered that day, the day that had burned itself into his memory.

_The figure, covered in blood, jeans and pea coat dirty and worn out.  
Kneeling in front of the altar with his head down, his shoulder long hair covering his face and making it impossible to see it, just kneeling there, hardly alive and praying._

"A church" Daryl murmured, now slowly understanding what his friend meant.

"We didn't check the fuckin churches, churches were me and my brother's sanctuary fer Christ's fuckin sakes. 's gotta be him" the Irishman said and grabbed the door handle to rip the door open and run outside. Daryl was still momentarily paralyzed by the memories, the noise and all the sudden information, but when he saw how Connor was already zigzagging his way across the street and past the walkers he finally snapped out of it.

"Connor! Wait up you asshole! This could be a trap!" he yelled but Connor wouldn't wait, he just kept running towards the noise.

"Fuckin hurry!" the Irishman spat and then disappeared around a corner.

"Connor! Fuck…" Daryl exclaimed and then ran for their stuff so they wouldn't leave it behind just because his friend was so freaking brainless sometimes. As soon as he had their bag and his crossbow he ran outside the gas station, past the multiple shuffling corpses, after his friend.

* * *

**the same day, the same time, Hospital, Savannah, Georgia**

They were on yet another small scouting mission around town when Murphy suddenly heard the ringing again. The Irishman had secretly urged his small group to keep searching in areas closer to the church, to use exact moments like this to get away and check out who was making the freaking noise all the time. Vernon and Brie didn't even really look up or search the neighbourhood for the source of the noise, they just kept walking, heading for the apartment complex at the far end of the street.

"They just keep trying" Vernon muttered to himself and Brie nodded.

"It's not working, though" she agreed, although the younger MacManus twin wasn't really so sure about it.

He had stopped walking and was falling behind because of that, head turned in the direction of where the Gould Estates were.  
Vernon and Brie kept walking for a moment, until they finally noticed his absence and stopped walking as well.

"David?" Vernon asked and Murphy looked back at them, fingers itching, something inside of him craving to be close to that church. It wasn't just the curiosity, to see who was ringing and what they wanted, he also missed being inside churches, the praying, staying there and joining masses, but there was also something else connected to churches and the ringing of those bells, something he could quite put his finger on it.

"We should check out who's ringing those bells" he said matter of factly and looked at both members of his group, who looked terrified and stared at him like he had lost his mind.

"No! We agreed that this is just Crawford! It's too dangerous and we…."

Murphy didn't even really listen anymore, he was staring into the distance, and he could almost feel how his time was running out. Whoever was tolling those bells wouldn't be there too much longer as soon as they stopped ringing. Or maybe they kept tolling them because they were slowly dying, surrounded by walkers without any food or water left. And he was the only one who could probably do something about it. Even if those weren't survivors - if this really was Crawford, then he could check out what they were up to, maybe even integrate that into his plans about breaking into the place and robbing it blind sooner or latter.

"I just gotta see!" he exclaimed and then suddenly started running, maybe even regretting it a bit because he didn't want to leave Brie and Vernon behind, but also because he feared that they wouldn't let him in later. But he still kept running, ignoring their shouting. He was doing it for them after all, for the greater good, maybe even for Savannah. So Murphy ran even faster, towards the church, heart pounding faster and faster, although he didn't even know why.

* * *

**Fifteen minutes later, the Church**

Murphy burst through the door and had a frantic look around, only to close the doors shut behind him yet again. More and more walkers were showing up all around the building, drawn in by the noise the bells were making. It wasn't like he feared the walkers, but he knew that other survivors feared them, that they were trying to get away from them no matter what. It had been pretty easy to get inside the church and that confused him a bit. The doors weren't barricaded, just closed, which was pretty uncommon for places that people usually used as hideout.

"Hello?!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the halls of the church and making a couple walkers turn around.

The undead were staggering around the place that had once been holy, but other than them there was no one else here.

But the bells were still ringing.

Murphy raised his head, confusion written all over his place because he couldn't find anyone, he could just hear them.  
_Maybe they're still up there_ , he thought and started running yet again, down the aisle, eyes fixed on the ceiling and ignoring the walkers around him.

"Hello!" he called once again and searched the halls for a bit, until he could finally find the door with the sign 'historic bell tower' on it.

It was closed, which made the whole thing even more suspicious, but Murphy really wanted to find someone, find out who was ringing the bells, so he ran for it and cursed at the sight of so many stairs. _Stairway To Heaven_ , a once famous tune he didn't really remember but that still started playing in his head suddenly came to his mind and then he ran for it with a huffed "Fuck it".  
  
The bells weren't on a timer, not so irregularly, not just once a day, and certainly not after so many of months of being without electricity or anyone to look after them. Someone _had_ to be tolling them. He jogged up the stairs, completely out of breath by now, his old shoot wound pounding and making his entire head ache with every step that he took, but he kept running until he finally, finally reached the tower where the bells had stopped ringing by now only to find…

Nothing.

No people. No Crawford. No one who wanted to surprise kill him, ask him for help, laugh at him.

The bells weren't ringing anymore but swaying still. He was all alone up here, seeing the walkers on the streets who were slowly swarming the place, but he was just with the undead. No holy, no priest, no survivors, the bells still echoing in his memory. He was disappointed at first, searching all around the bells and even inside them just to make sure. The younger MacManus didn't know what he had expected to find, but the entire run, the wondering about it for days and coming up with plans to practically betray his group for nothing?

 _Maybe it had been the wind_ , he tried to tell himself, although he perfectly knew that it was calm today. And that Brie and Vernon had obviously told him that they'd never heard it before. He looked up at the sky to check for anything weather wise, and maybe he was even looking for god, asking him if it had been a sign. _A sign of what, though?_ There was nothing here.

He walked another round and felt his heart beating faster yet again. It was the lack of everything that made him feel uneasy about it. No answer. No people. No solution, just nothing. Then he heard the loud slam of doors downstairs, and seconds after that excited and muffled yelling. Murphy froze on the spot, paling as realization suddenly hit him.

_It could be one of Crawfords latest ideas to lure survivors out. A new trap of some sort.  
What we should be doing is get as far away from this place as possible._

A trap.  
The bells had been the cheese. And he was the mouse.  
The church was a giant mouse trap.

"Fuck" Murphy hissed and instantly grabbed his gun, hurrying for the stairs to get down before his attackers got a chance to get up here or trap him.  
The stairs were his only way up and down and those bastards knew it.

He was so stupid. No surprise his brother had left him for dead. He should've known. He should've listened to Brie and Vernon. And now here he was, all stupid, trapped, all on his own and possibly surrounded by Crawford's citizens, the very people who wanted sick and weak people dead. He tried to make his way down the stairs as quietly as possible, but since they were made of very old wood it was way harder than he thought. Murphy tiptoed his way down, towards the door, fingers clenched around his gun and ready to kill whoever tried to attack him first.

* * *

**a moment earlier, the church**

"I told you this is a stupid idea! He ain't here!" Daryl yelled as he tried to lock the door tight, since he didn't exactly fancy all the walkers from outside in here, ready to crush them to death because of the lack of space. Connor wouldn't listen to him though, he was walking down the aisle towards the altar, eyes skimming each row of church banks, hoping to find his brother. "Murph?!" he shouted and stabbed a walker who was in the way, but couldn't see his twin anywhere. Not hiding. Not praying, not waiting.

"Just forget it, he ain't here! Just look at this place. It's deserted, and it made enough noise to lure people from freakin Atlanta over here!" Daryl shouted and tried to have a look outside one of the heavily decorated windows, to see if anyone else had followed him, not just the walkers. "Won't be long and those wall of death freaks'll turn up and shoot us like that family yesterday!" Daryl hissed and then walked away from the windows, because he didn't want a sniper or other kind of shooter to spot him.  
  
He rushed down the aisle of the church, not really paying attention to anything or looking for his friend's brother, he just wanted to get out of this place, fast. So he rushed after Connor, walking faster and faster so he could place a hand on his shoulder and pull him back. The Irishman was staring at the ceiling by now, searching it, as if he was expecting to see his twin hung up like cheap angel statue, but there was nothing there.

"Come on, the bells stopped ringing, there's geeks piling up all around the church and we should…"

"He's gotta be up there. The bells are up there. 'm gonna check out the tower" Connor said and ignored his friend completely, until he started running yet again. He stopped midtrack though when he heard the loud creaking of wood somewhere to their left, behind a door. Daryl froze as well and then both men looked at each other. The hunter instinctively placed a finger on his mouth and then signaled Connor that he was supposed to approach the door from the right side, whereas he was going to approach it from the other.

The Irishman nodded and then did as he was told, crouching down a bit and then tiptoeing his way through the maze of benches, towards the door with the sign ' _historic bell tower_ ' on it. Just before reaching it he made eye contact with Daryl yet again, nodding and then slowly grabbing the door handle. He could hear someone moving behind the door, making their way down the stairs, way too cautious and steady to be a walker.  
  
The Irishman waited until his friend was with him, standing by the door, aiming his crossbow right at the wood and ready to shoot who ever was behind it. When the hunter gave Connor a final nod the older of the two friends finally pressed the handle down, ripping the door open and then aiming his gun at whoever was waiting.

He wasn't to surprised to face the muzzle of a gun. That he'd been expecting. What he hadn't expected to see though, was _that_ face.

"Drop yer guns or I'm gonna shot yer fuckin Crawford ass all the way back t'where yah fuckin came from!" greeted them the angry voice of a person who kept moving his gun back and forth between the two friends. Connor just stood there, a shocked, horrified and strange expression on his face like he'd just zoned out completely, unable to hear or process anything. Daryl widened his eyes in shock as well but wouldn't lower the crossbow. For a moment he fixed his eyes on the person in front of him, and it really felt like he was staring in a mirror.

The man opposite him seemed just as taken aback by the encounter, the resemblance, but before he or Daryl got the chance to actually say something they both heard a loud thud next to them, which made them both turn their heads. Connor's guns were lying on the ground where the Irishman had dropped them a second ago, and when Daryl finally fixed his eyes on his friend's face again Connor finally reacted.

"Murph?"

* * *


	24. Lost

"Murph?"

Murphy was standing there, gun still raised and pointed at the men in front of him, although the sight of them really paralyzed him. For almost a year he'd been thinking about the man in front of him. Nonstop. Never quite able to really remember his face, his voice, and yet here he was, in the flesh, standing right there, staring at him with wide eyes, guns dropped. Months of not really remembering him, and he still recognized him.

Connor.

Connor was standing right in front of him. There was no question about it. He had the same tattoos, the Virgin Mary on his neck, and there it was, a cross, identical to his own, tattooed on the man's left lower arm. And although his left hand was bandaged he could see the letters on his index finger, matching his own although it was a different word.

_Veritas._

For just a second it felt like time had stopped or slowed down all around them. He was just staring at his brother, in shock, because he couldn't believe that they could possibly ever see each other again. In the same city, the same town, the same church, the same godforsaken room.

But there was no doubt about it.

Murphy didn't know how to breathe, how to speak, what to do, say or think in general. And the most important about it all: he didn't know what to feel. For months he had believed his brother to be dead. That he had died, alone, somewhere back in Boston, ripped to shreds by walking monsters or burnt alive in the ruins of their old home town. But he was there, not a ghost, not one of _them_ , not burning, not dead, Connor was perfectly fine apart from a couple of bruises and bandages.

Murphy's heart started beating faster, demanding a reaction from the younger MacManus twin, who really didn't know how to react at all. He'd pictured so many different things. Wrapping his arms around his brother and crying like a baby because he had missed him so much and because he had been so alone without him. But then other feelings took over.

Fear. And anger.

He could see the guns to Connor's feet, maybe one of them was the same one that he had been shot with. And this was exactly the point. Connor was the man who had _shot_ him in the head, left him to this, the not seeing clearly on his one eye, the not really being able to write or read, the fits every now and then, the trauma, the fear.  
  
His own brother was the very person who had almost killed him, stripped him off his weapons and left him to die in this room in Boston, surrounded by flesh eating monsters, without protection or help. And part of him just wanted to do the same to him now because he had felt so betrayed, so hurt, so alone.

When he turned his head a bit it only made it worse, because now he could see the other guy. The man was way dirtier than him and looked older and tougher. He was more muscular, upper arms glistening with sweat and dirt, exposed because he was wearing a dirty farmer's shirt with cut off sleeves. The man was pointing a large and complex crossbow right at his face, giving him an angry glare while slowly getting closer and closer to Connor.

The guy looked -exactly- like him. Or…almost exactly like him. His hair was longer than his and filthier, he had smaller, angrier eyes than him and his facial bone structure was a bit harsher than his own, but they still looked practically the same. Murphy couldn't believe what he saw. It made him even more angry, hurt him even more. So here Connor was, after nearly killing him and abandoning him, looking just fine apart from the couple of scratches, bruises and bandages.   
  
He looked thin but still muscular, indicating that he'd been well fed most of the time and done some sports. The bastard looked healthier than him, didn't have a freaking hole in his skull or an ugly scar on his shoulder, and he had simply found himself someone _new_.

And judging by the way they acted around each other they were close. Connor seemed to be doing fine without him, and he'd just replaced him with an other guy who had the same face as him. And after examining the new guy for just a couple of seconds he could already tell that the replacement had to be a better version of him. More muscular, tough guy, a true outdoor survivor. It made Murphy so angry, it overwhelmed him so much, the reunion, seeing Connor, seeing the new guy with his face, that he just wanted to kill them both, but no matter what he tried, he just couldn't do it.

Because this was still _Connor._

Murphy's hands started shaking as he just stared at his twin, and he would do neither of the things he had just pictured.  
After what felt like eternity Connor finally moved, slowly walking towards him, shaking just as much.

"Murph, I'm.." he said but the younger MacManus pointed his shaky gun at him.

"Don't" he said, and was actually quite surprised how emotional he sounded.   
  
He was close to crying, actually, and he could see that Connor was just as close.  
They didn't get to say anything else because then the other guy suddenly reacted,   
stepping between them and trying to press his shaking gun down.

"Hey, relax. This is yah damn brother yah pointing this thing at in case you don't remember, kiddo" he said, obviously trying to protect Connor from possibly getting shot, but that just made Murphy even angry. "Shut up, I know who tha fuck this is. Who asked you and who the fuck are ye anyway?" he spat, pointed his gun at the guy and then glared at Connor, who was just standing behind his lookalike, staring at him with wide eyes like he still couldn't believe that this was really happening.

"Besides, 's not like he cared when he pointed _his_ gun at _me_ " he went on, a blow below the belt and he knew it, but he just needed to get rid of the anger, the hurt. He got the reaction he wanted, the look on Connor's face changed drastically, now he was the one extremely hurt, like he had just stabbed him in his guts and watched him bleed.   
  
"Murph, I'm so _so_ fuckin.." he stammered, his voice breaking and full of emotion, and no matter how hard the younger MacManus twin tried to fight it, they still locked in a stare and he couldn't look away, couldn't _not_ try to connect with the person who was undoubtedly his brother, his own flesh and blood, and who had once been his soul mate.

The stranger between them used the opportunity and disarmed him, taking the gun away from Murphy and then putting it away, but the dark-haired MacManus twin did not care, he kept staring at Connor, letting the sight of him sink in after one year of not seeing him. And how strange it really was, almost like deja-vu.   
  
For his 'new' self, his post-shot-in-the-head and memory loss plagued self, it was the first time he was seeing the man, and although he couldn't -really- remember or recall every last detail about his face it all seemed so familiar, like he'd seen it before, like he was staring at his own reflection in a fucked up way. Like he had just been a faint childhood memory, like he had only seen him many many years ago.

He definitely _knew_ this face. Had once known it like the back of his own hand.  
And yet he couldn't remember. Whatever was going on between them during that stare, it was weird, it freaked him out, like their were old phone lines trying to reconnect between them, the signal was distorted, almost gone, because the plugs didn't fit anymore, although his subconscious tried really hard to make them fit. But then the fear took ever yet again.   
  
Yes, he _remembered_ that face. He remembered staring right into those eyes, that face, although it had been nothing but a terrible grimace because of the countless tears, but it still had been the very last face he had seen after getting bit, and just before getting shot. He remembered trying to beg him to help him, trying to reach out for him, but Connor had still shot him. And this scared him now. More than anything. Something had been broken between them. Not just his head. Or his memory. Something far deeper. So the 'trying to connect' stare changed into a judging stare. A questioning stare.

_Why._

Connor was speechless yet again. He opened his mouth a couple of times, like he was trying to say something, but the guy was pretty close to bawling yet again. Just before Murphy got to ask him the question that had been bugging him every single day since the incident back in Boston loud noises suddenly startled all three of them. There were gunshots going on outside the church, then there was shouting.

"Go! Take them out! Try to surround the church! We'll get 'em this time!" someone quite close to the church suddenly yelled, which made them all look in the direction. Connor and Daryl had to turn around to see what was going on, and Murphy used the opportunity to run away. He certainly didn't want to deal with this right now. Not here, not when there were all these monsters around, not with Crawford obviously getting here. He just wanted out, momentarily controlled by nothing but emotion.

He just needed to get away from Connor. Let it sink in, stop looking at him, else he just knew that he was either going to freak out and start punching him, or he was going to cry his eyes out. Since those were already watering he knew that the latter was probably going to be the case. He certainly couldn't win the fight with watery eyes, he knew that he couldn't win it at all.   
  
If he'd learned one thing back in Boston and Augusta then it was that the best option was and would always be to run away, find cover, come up with a solution later, or maybe not even at all. He was sneaky enough on his own by now, and within seconds he disappeared, heading for a window, and slipped out. Murphy just knew that this stupid new guy and his brother certainly couldn't come after him because of all the walkers behind the church, so he took the chance.

"Fuck, it's those guys from yesterday" Connor breathed and backed off, gripping Daryl by his shirt while reaching out with his other hand to get his brother.

"We gotta go, I don't wanna…" he said but froze, because his other hand wouldn't connect with a firm chest, his brother or anything else.  
He turned around and widened his eyes in absolute terror because just like that Murphy was suddenly gone.

"MURPH?" he yelled as loud as he could, ignoring the gentle punch to his shoulder that Daryl gave him for being too loud.

"Keep it down, they're right outside, dumbass!" Daryl hissed and turned around for a second, already getting annoyed as hell by how Connor was suddenly acting just because he obviously had his stupid brother back. But when he turned his head he saw it, too. The guy that had just been standing there a second ago had suddenly disappeared, while they had been busy trying to make out their attackers.

"Murph!" Connor wailed yet again, searching the surrounding benches and the altar for his found-but-lost-again brother, and slowly losing it because of his absence. "Shit" Daryl hissed and started running, towards the door, crossbow raised in case some of the attackers outside burst through it.   
  
He managed to drag a bench along, pulling it towards the door to block it. He risked another glance outside the window and could see five heavily armed guys who were driving up and down the street in front of the church and started shouting at the forming mob of walkers, and it only took seconds until their bullets shredded the doors and windows as well.

Daryl threw himself to the ground and covered his head to protect himself from the glass and bullets, and once the car had driven past the church doors he got back up and started running towards his friend, who was still searching the church in horror, screaming his brother's name. He widened his eyes even more when Connor suddenly headed for the door that led to the bell tower, to the _stairs_. A one way ticket.

"No, don't!" Daryl yelled and ran even faster, trying to stop his friend from trapping them even more.

Connor ripped the door to the tower open but froze, eyes frantically scanning both the church and the stairs.

"But…I gotta find him! He was standing right in fronta me, and I swear ta fucking god, I wasn' hallucinating this time. He was standing right in fuckin fronta me and now he's just gone, I gotta find him.." the Irishman said, sounding frantic, confused, panicked and close to tears. Daryl had to be honest, although he had been through quite some shit with his friend he had never seen him like that, so out of his mind, almost vulnerable, not into combat or fight for survival at all. In fact, Connor didn't even seem to register that they were under attack. That short glimpse of his brother being alive and breathing had been enough to make him a mess, a fool, and once again it was on Daryl to save him, to save them, to save the day.

He grabbed the Irishman by both his shoulders, and maybe a bit too tight on purpose, to use pain to get his friend back into the real world.

"I know, I saw 'im, too. Alright? But we gotta get our asses outta here right now, else those freaks are gonna surround us and we're both done.  
Yah hear me?" he asked but Connor still tried to head for the stairs.

"Maybe the shots spooked 'im. Ye saw the fuckin look on his face when he saw me. He was scared, maybe he ran upstairs, I gotta fuckin find him, Daryl. He's me fuckin twin brother and I can't fuckin lose him again!" he roared, brother instincts kicking in so violently that he didn't know how to breathe. It was exactly like back in their apartment that one day when the Russians had attacked him.   
  
Just back then Murphy had given him that long look, he'd been scared, he'd been about to die, and it had been _his_ job to protect his brother. He felt the adrenaline rush through his body once more, like he could rip out yet another toilet, throw it at whoever the fuck was disturbing them. He felt invincible, he didn't care, as long as he got Murphy back.

"We would've heard the freaking door!" Daryl roared and even considered knocking his momentarily crazy friend out, just so he could carry him out of this place and get the hell away. But he knew that Connor was too heavy, that they would be too slow. There was no way he was leaving without the Irish freak, but there was also no way he was going to get himself shot to shit either, just because the blonde's brain didn't seem to function right now.

There was more shooting in front of the church and the never ending growling of walkers behind it, and then he could already see the doors shake, heard the bench creak and shiver. Shit. They were going to get in. "Come on!" Daryl yelled and grabbed his friend's broken hand to induce even more pain and drag him along, but then he heard it, the voice he'd just heard seconds before, the same brogue, the same terrible accent.

"This way!" he heard Connor's brother shout from somewhere to their left, just by the windows.

* * *

**a couple of minutes earlier**

Murphy was running and running, away from the church, breathing getting heavier and heavier by the second. He could still hear the shouting, the shooting that was going on in front of the building as he made his way through the small crowd of walkers, fighting his way against the stream, using them as cover to get away. He would turn around every now and then, staring back at the church. He tried to keep telling himself that he was just making sure that Connor and his new 'brother' wouldn't follow him, although the opposite was the case.

He wanted to curse himself, he wanted it not to be this way, and yet he felt it. The instant longing for Connor, the need to have him flee with him, to be right behind him, to be reunited with him. And now he finally couldn't hide or stop the tears from flowing anymore, sniffing awkwardly and trying to wipe them away with the back of his hand.   
  
He felt like a girl doing that, but he didn't care. He was emotional, always had been, he just knew it. And this very moment had been far too emotional because after one year of longing for Connor, after one year of feeling hurt and trying to hate him he still couldn't fight the immense turmoil in his chest, his belly, his heart.

He couldn't hate him. Never had. Never ever would. And the fact that Connor had shot him didn't hurt. No, it hurt to lie to himself, to do this. To keep telling himself that he was a whole without him. That he was _fine_ without him, when he really wasn't.   
  
He slowed down, bumping into a walker but ignoring the undead completely. Although he was still scared of them and didn't like to be around them none of that mattered at the moment. They were a welcome cover, for just a moment he could just disappear in a crowd, let himself go, weep and long and regret everything.

More and more shooting behind him, and then the rhythmic banging on wood, like they were trying to get inside the church. The younger MacManus slowly turned around, looking at the building, seeing the dark figure of the cross underneath the cloudy sky. It kept calling him, no matter what he tried. He knew that he just couldn't get away from any of it. This was were home was, this was where he would feel better, and everything around him was just wrong. There were walkers and Crawford people all around the church, slowly closing in, trapping his brother, the guy with his face.

He knew that this was the point in his life where he could let it happen and get everything he had longed for every now and then, when the wounds had hurt, when people kept betraying him, killing others, trying to hunt and kill him over and over again. Whenever this had happened he had tried to hate Connor, blame him, wish that the same shit would happen to him as punishment for their cruel parting.   
  
And here he was, saw all the undead stagger around, trapping his brother inside the church. Connor would probably get bitten by an undead first, before getting shot in the head by Crawford people, who were probably going to blame him for tolling the bells for weeks. He could have his 'revenge', his 'payback', but he knew that he wasn't like this.

He was Murphy. Connor's brother. Despite the problems he honestly believed that he was a good person, that he was full of grief and disappointment, but full of love and warmth still. No one deserved such a death. And it didn't matter if Connor had abandoned and shot him on purpose or not. Connor was his brother, and he, Murphy, would never ever let his own flesh and blood suffer, he would never abandon him and leave him to die.

So he wiped his cheeks and felt determination growing, previous fear and hatred completely forgotten. This was a church. This was what he stood for. This was why he had Aequitas on his finger, the cross on his arm and back. He believed in god, in family, in righteousness and love. He ran back even faster, heading for the window and then ripping it open, praying that it wasn't too late. He needed to fix it.

He had no idea how he was supposed to get his brother and the other guy through the maze of the undead without getting them bitten or killed, but he did not care. He knew that he couldn't plan for shit, but now that he had Connor back, maybe he didn't need to do it after all. He awkwardly tried to climb back inside and could already hear them fight.

"We would've heard the freaking door! Come on!" he heard Connor's redneck friend yell and saw him almost manhandling his brother, and since he knew that they didn't have any time he just jumped inside and ran towards them. "This way!" he shouted, completely out of breath and heart pounding. He put his hands on his knees and tried to catch breath for a second, the scar on his forehead pounding because of the sudden higher blood pressure.

Both Connor and his friend were staring at him with wide eyes, still clutching to each other, looking both panicked and angry.

"Murph" Connor breathed yet again and although he looked very upset he still cracked a gentle smile, like he still couldn't believe that he was really here. Another loud bang and creaking sound startled all three of them, and Murphy sprung to his feet and headed for the window. When he saw walkers right in front of it he cursed, shoving a couple of them away with an annoyed growl because to him they just felt like annoying drunks who were trying to get inside a pub after closing time.

"Hurry! There's more 'n more of those undead shits piling up over here, and's our only way out!"

He turned his head around and stared at Connor's friend, who was busy getting their stuff together in a hurry.

"Gimme me gun, I can shoot us a way out and keep 'em fram attacking ye. I got no time ta explain, they don' attack me, but…"

"Yeah, yah can save all the talk 'n bullets. I don't need yah help, kiddo" Daryl growled angrily and walked past Murphy quickly, purposely running right into him and bumping his shoulder hard into the Irishman's chest. "Ow, fuckin arsehole!" Murphy complained as he stumbled back and tried to kick Daryl for that, but then the hunter suddenly disappeared through the window. Part of the younger MacManus twin didn't want to care if the asshole got torn to shreds by walkers outside, but he was still curious, so he ran after him and looked out of the window.   
  
And there the guy was, zigzagging his way through all the walkers. Only a couple of the undead would look after him, maybe try to reach out for him, but other than that he just passed the crowd like he was part of them. Murphy raised both his eyebrows in surprise and maybe even shock. He'd thought that he had been the only one having such a "not" impact on walkers.

"What te…" he muttered to himself but didn't get to say anything else, because right then Daryl crowed yet again.

"Leprechaun! Get yah ass outta there!" he roared, and for a moment Murphy wanted to respond to that, because he thought he was being referred to as 'leprechaun' because of his accent. "'m coming!" Connor suddenly yelled right behind him, though, startling Murphy and making him turn around. The younger MacManus finally understood that 'Leprechaun' was actually the nickname the redneck had given his brother, which made him like the guy even less. He could already tell that he and the other guy were going to hate each other. A lot.

But right now he didn't get to worry about that, because the doors were still shaking on the other side of the church, but even that didn't matter. Because Connor was standing there, right in front of him, looking at him like he still wasn't too sure whether he should cry like a baby and feel depressed, or if he should laugh, and smile and be happy because of their sudden and unexpected reunion.

"Murph" Connor said yet again, like it was the best word in the world, like a prayer. And then there was both, a smile, but also tears in his eyes. He had stayed back on purpose, had asked Daryl to leave first so they could have these couple of seconds to themselves, because he really needed to do this. He gently lifted his arms up a bit, reaching out and then approaching his twin with open arms and a sad but yet happy smile, really wanting to hug him tightly. Hold him, breathe him in, enjoy the fact that he was really _there_.

But Murphy flinched.

Away from him, backing into the wall, just staring at him without saying anything.  
Connor stopped walking and looked rather surprised, slowly lowering his arms and then swallowing hard.

"CONNOR!" Daryl shouted from somewhere outside, only getting underlined by the banging of the doors, destroying the moment even more.  
Both MacManus twins understood that this situation was more important right now.

"We gotta go" Murphy just said and then looked down, turning around and then quickly heading for the window with sweaty clenched fists. Connor just watched him leave for a second, feeling both so incredibly happy seeing Murphy alive and in the flesh, but at the same time he was absolutely heartbroken because of his reaction to his attempted hug.

"Aye" he gently said, slowly dying inside all over again, but he still followed his friend, his _brother_.

* * *

They were walking down the abandoned streets of Savannah, still having an eye out on possible attackers or unwanted guests. There were just the undead around them, not too many but not too few either. Daryl kept his eyes fixed on the walking person in front of him, the grey shirt, the too large jeans, the black hair. The way the guy was walking, acting, doing anything.

Murphy MacManus. In the flesh. Right in front of him.

Not just a ghost. Not just a memory or an annoying word, an annoying name.

Connor had spent _months_ pretending that he was that guy. His friend had spent one year talking about him. Every single day. Truth be told, he was a bit underwhelmed. Over the course of the past couple of months Murphy's shadow had grown bigger and bigger.   
  
Murphy had always been perfect at everything. He had been the tough serial killer partner. Connor's better half. But here he was, right in front of him. He'd pictured him a little different. Basically, just like himself minus the scars plus a terrible accent. And although they looked pretty much like each other, there still were differences.

First of all, the guy in front of him was a bit smaller. Smaller than Connor, smaller than him. He knew that Connor was three years older than him, and since he and Murphy were twins it meant that his friend's brother was also three years older than him, but he really didn't look like it. Murphy looked a whole lot -younger- than him. Connor certainly looked his age by now, but not his brother. He would've thought that the kid was in his late twenties or something. There was just something about his weird haircut which made him look like some milksop, or his slightly rounder and less bony face. He was also a whole lot paler than him.

So really. He didn't get the hype. Murphy was just some random kid, really. Nothing special.

Daryl huffed a bit to underline his train of thoughts.

 _Yeah, totally_ not _special._

But he could actually see Connor in the kid. At least some tiny bits. They were walking in the same rhythm. The same paces, the same foot, at the same time without even noticing it. Even the way they walked, the strange trotting but yet walking, they both did that. And although he had not tried to look too closely he'd still seen it right away: the kid had his friend's eyes. And the same accent. Obviously.   
  
It was undeniable that Murphy was Connor's brother. He could just….feel it. One knew it without actually being told.   
And maybe that made him jealous. There was a sudden connection there.   
Like an unwanted new radio frequency that was blocking his and Connor's old one.

And that wasn't the most annoying part about it, and Daryl was actually quite surprised what -really- annoyed him.

The tattoos.

They really had the same tattoos. Or more like, this freaking Murphy kid had _Connor's_ tattoos. The 'ugly, faggy' thing on his neck as he liked to call it (truth be told, he didn't mind it, he even thought it looked cool). The cross on his arm. The word on his finger, although everything was practically mirror inverted. And that really made him angry. Suddenly pretty much every tattoo was there two times.

Connor wasn't unique anymore. There was nothing special or unique about him anymore. He just wasn't a person of his own.  
He wasn't the only Irishman anymore. He wasn't the only religious freak, he wasn't the only one not being able to speak proper English.

Speaking of Connor. Daryl finally stopped glaring at Murphy and looked at his friend, who was actually walking right next to him, not his brother. He was quite surprised by that. He'd pictured it to be different, that these two Irish freaks would start river dancing together, happily into the sunset, past the rainbow, where they would share gold nuggets and shit like that.   
  
Reality was different, though. Connor and Murphy were quiet. They wouldn't say a single word to each other in fact. The younger twin was walking in front of them, staring straight ahead. Connor was with him, although he was keeping his distance. The blonde had both his hands in his pockets and just looked down, not at his brother, and what really made Daryl grit his teeth was the fact that the Irishman looked upset.

The exact opposite of -everything- he had pictured. Connor wasn't better, wasn't laughing, wasn't happy. He was actually worse. Tending towards all the shit he'd been like -before- getting better. Like Murphy's return hadn't brought back the old Connor prior the apocalypse, the one from the photo. No, it was like Murphy's return had triggered something in his friend, made him his old, pitiable self.

"You alright?" Daryl asked quietly while keeping an eye on the younger MacManus, careful not to let him hear.  
Connor startled a bit and looked up, like he'd been ripped out of a daydream.

"What? Aye. Aye.." he muttered and fixed his eyes on Murphy as well.

"He didn't take it too good?" Daryl murmured after a while and tried to make sense out of the MacManus twins, but couldn't. Even with all the stories he had heard from his friend, he still didn't know Murphy, how he ticked, what he thought or did. He only knew Connor, and he certainly knew when something was up with his friend. Connor turned his head to look at him and then gave him a smile.

"Well, I shot 'im in the head last time he saw me" the Irishman said and kept smiling, although he sounded hollow.

"But hey, nice weather" the blonde said and then looked away. Daryl turned his head yet again, fixing his eyes on Murphy's back and hating the kid even more. He didn't get how the hell this guy could act like that. So he got shot in the head. So. Fucking. What. He'd survived all this shit, and he had his brother back. He would kill to get Merle back like that. That little ungrateful shit didn't know what he had even if someone handed him the cure for mankind.

"You had no other choice" Daryl said, suddenly feeling even more protective of Connor than ever.  
The fight was on after all, and right now it looked like he was the better brother, the better one for the blonde.

 _Take this, emo kid_ , he thought and gave Murphy an extra long glare.

"Aye" Connor just said, not really sounding like it helped.

There was silence for a while, and Daryl felt terribly awkward. He knew that he could use this moment, this rift between the MacManus brothers and make it his advantage. He could rile them up against each other, make Murphy leave, just so he could keep Connor all to himself. Set things to the way they used to be before Augusta, before they had discovered that the kid was still alive.   
  
This way he could be selfish, he could keep healing after Merle's death simply because he still had Connor as his new/old/better brother, everything was going to be rainbows and happy ends. Although he knew that this shit was never going to work. Because this would hurt his friend. Connor was never going to get over this, the Irishman could never really function without his twin and they both knew it.

And no matter what, there was no option where both he and Connor could get what they wanted, could be happy.

The other option was the realistic one, the morally 'correct' and honest one, but it was also the one that was going to hurt _him_. Help Connor. Get the two brothers back together. Make Connor happy, piece him back together. Give him Murphy. Restore his old order, his old, complete life. Which would make _him_ less important.   
  
This was the truth. Connor didn't need him in this world. Maybe he was the cherry on top, but Murphy was still the cake. He was small compared to that one. Tiny even. Unimportant decoration. He was like the appendix in this triangle. He'd once been useful, once had a purpose, but now he was no longer needed.

But he had never been a selfish person anyway. He'd been raised liked that. To feel useless. To be useless. To be used until he was burned out. He'd never really been important to anyone. Some people had just always been important to him. And since there was no way he was ever going to be like his father, his mother, or even Merle, he chose the second option. The real, selfless option. Make Connor better. Piece him back together. This had been his job for the past couple of months after all.

"Maybe yah just gotta talk t'him" he said and swallowed, because the suggestion made him feel bitter.

He didn't want Connor to leave, didn't want to pass on the ability to talk to him, be close to him, share something with him, but he knew that this was right.  
Connor snorted and looked away.

"Already tried. Back in the old days 't was like tha. Murph was pissed at me: he wouldn' talk ta me and make me suffer fer a bit. And he was the only one ta call te fight off."

Daryl looked at Murphy yet again and chewed on his lips a bit.

"But…it ain't like before no more. Yah both changed" he said and the looked at Connor for a while. He really hated that he was supposed to be like that, the mature one, the relationship instructor, when he seriously just wanted to punch his friend's brother to a bloody pulp and drag Connor back to Woodbury. But he kept playing good guy, because at the same time he also knew that he had caused his friend enough pain for a life time as well, and maybe it was his chance to make up for that now.

"Just go" he said then, grabbed Connor and then shoved him away from him and towards Murphy. Because if he really had to lose the guy then he'd rather push him away then _get_ pushed away by an other guy. The Irishman stumbled a bit and looked rather confused at first, but Daryl simply decided not to look at him at all. He turned his back on the blonde instead and kept an eye on their rear. Connor sighed and then fixed his eyes on Murphy's back.

He was struggling if he was honest about it. He really wanted nothing more than close the distance between them, wrap his arms around his twin and never let him go, but this would include him having to look Murphy in the eye. And it was the face he feared the most, because his brother hadn't changed one tiny bit, except for two details.   
  
Number one was unmistakable. The scar on his forehead. It looked even more horrible in real life.  
It had looked pretty bad on the picture, but it looked beyond terrifying in broad daylight, in the flesh.

He'd only ever known Murphy with a clean face. A black eye here and there, a few cuts from bar fights every now and then, and bruised chins and scratches back in their childhood, but other than that he'd always looked perfectly fine. Like an angel, as ma had used to call it. It was still Murphy, but he was scarred now. Ever present, a constant reminder of what had happened.

What he had done.

Detail number two was the large scar on his shoulder, his neck.  
Although he had practically the same one he still felt guilty, because he had failed to protect his brother from this although he had been right there.

He knew perfectly fine that everything had been an accident, that he never would've shot Murphy if he had known that he was still alive. But that didn't change anything about it. The scars were still there. Marking Murphy as a hurt soul. Forever. Just like Daryl with his scars. He could never forgive himself that. He didn't want to see it, because it broke his heart every single time, but he knew that he had to do it. And maybe this was the right kind of punishment. He had his brother back. With a terrible price.

He walked faster and faster until he was right next to his twin, keeping some space between them on purpose. It really hurt because it was so unlike them. Before all this they had always been right next to each other, perfectly synchronized, always touching, on the same wavelength. And here they were.   
  
Even if he stretched his arms he wouldn't be able to touch his twin, just like Murphy seemed to want it. The dark-haired MacManus turned his head and looked at him for a moment, obviously curious, and a tiny part of him seemed to be relieved and happy, but other than that he just looked angry and almost cold.

They just walked right next to each other for a while, slowly getting used to each other's presence yet again. Connor didn't talk right away because he didn't want to scare his twin away again, but he also didn't talk because he didn't know how he was supposed to start the conversation. Which was ridiculous, really. If he thought about it. This was his freaking brother, not some fucking chick he was taking out on their first date, where they didn't know what to talk about. But he didn't want to ruin everything.

He thought about just offering Murphy a smoke, maybe even silently just like back in the old days, but then decided that this was just cheap. It was like a stupid, pathetic peace offering. Like he was trying to buy his own brother, make it a simple apology present like, _sorry bout shooting you. Here have a cig and forget about it._ He also didn't just want to start talking about random shit, make it an easy conversation, because this would also feel fake and cheap, like he was trying to cover up the obvious. _Nice weather, the shot didn't happen, right?_

 _Fuck_ it.

Connor felt so angry all over again, he really wanted to kill somebody, or even worse, hurt himself for all the shit he had done to his own brother. He swallowed hard and came to the conclusion that there was only one way to start a conversation with Murphy.

"I'm so fuckin sorry, Murph" he almost whispered, because there it was again, the pathetic urge to cry when he remembered the last time they had seen each other. All the blood, the gunshot, how Murphy had been staggering towards him, _alive_.

"So…so _fuckin_ sorry" he repeated. He wanted to say it three hundred times in a row without stopping, even fall to his knees and be all pathetic about it, just so he could make it right somehow, beg for forgiveness. Murphy just looked at him, and Connor was actually surprised that even he couldn't read his twin anymore. He was just..there. Maybe judging, maybe accepting the apology, maybe silently murdering him in his head. Connor looked back at him and swallowed hard, and he never would have thought that one could physically long so _hard_ for a hug, that he could really feel it _ache_.

"I…I know that no matter what I say, 's no excuse fer what I did ta you" he said and his eyes lingered on the horrible scar for a moment. Murphy seemed to feel embarrassed, because he looked down and turned his head away while rubbing and covering the scar with his right tattooed hand.

"But I just want ye ta know that I'm. So. Sorry."

Much to his discomfort there was still silence between them, so he tried to keep going, reaching out inside his head, desperate for a connection.

"I was just…"

"I don't wanna talk 'bout it, Con" Murphy murmured and still wouldn't look at him.

Connor stopped talking and felt his heart sink at first, because Murphy didn't want to hear what he had to say, didn't accept an apology, and it took a couple of seconds until the whole sentence sunk in.

 _Con._ Murphy had called him _Con._

It had been ages since he'd last heard that nickname, but it was undeniably his nickname.

Not leprechaun, not dumbass or god knows what kind of countless nicknames Daryl had for him, but this one was just _Murphy_ 's nickname for him. There was nothing degrading about it, nothing that suggested that he was annoying. It was a nice nickname. A loving one even. It was definitely a start. A tiny one, one that outsiders certainly wouldn't pick up on, but he did.   
  
He managed a tiny smile despite the complicated and upsetting topic and decided that this was enough for today, that he should just keep his twin company for a while. And most importantly: enjoy _his_ company. Enjoy that Murphy was still breathing. Walking. Talking. Right beside him. All the more did it surprise him when his twin kept the conversation up.

"Who's tha asshole?" the younger MacManus asked and pointed behind them, at Daryl, who was keeping his distance from them but still followed them. Connor turned his head a bit and looked at his friend for a moment. He noticed the angry look on the hunter's face again, the look that could kill and make him look like a heartless, brutal, typical redneck.   
  
He knew perfectly well that it was just an act, or maybe Daryl really was angry, but he knew that it was going to pass. Connor smiled at the hunter and confused him a bit with that. Despite the fact that Murphy was right next to him it was still an affectionate smile, and since Daryl still didn't really know how to handle that he just rolled his eyes and purposely looked in the other direction with an angry frown.

"Tha's Daryl. Daryl Dixon. He.."

There was a small pause after that, because he really didn't have a clue how to describe their fucked up and ubercomplicated relationship.  
And he obviously couldn't tell Murphy the whole truth. Certainly not yet. Here it was. The elephant in the room.

"He 'n his group found me last year. 'n we became good friends" he said and then looked at the houses in front of them.

"He saved my life" he added quietly and Murphy snorted.

"Didn't take ye long then" he murmured and Connor turned his head to look at his twin in surprise.

"What?"

"Hey, emo kiddo! The other way!" Daryl suddenly roared behind them and made both siblings stop before they got to keep talking.  
Murphy turned his head with an angry frown and glared at the hunter.

"What tha fuck did ye just call me?" he asked, giving the man his infamous angry stare that Connor had missed so much. His brother and Daryl were pretty alike in that regard, the temper, the need for endless fighting, but Murphy was still a bit different there. Although Daryl was stronger and far more fucked up than the younger MacManus twin it was still the latter who reacted far more aggressive at first, who couldn't control his temper -at all- and didn't even try to in the first place. Daryl just walked past Murphy, once again almost running into him on purpose. He placed himself right between the MacManus twins, back turned on Murphy, looking right at Connor.

"You think the car's still back at the gas station?" he asked, whereas Murphy tried to get back in front of him.

"Hey, 'm talkin ta ye, Johnny Russell!" the younger MacManus twin roared and tried to pick up a fight with the man who looked so much like him, simply because he was so fed up with his attitude, his face, the fact that he'd just replaced him like that with all his redneck shit. What made it even worse for him was how both Daryl AND Connor ignored him completely.

"I dunno. 's worth a shot. Besides, we're just like…two blocks away from it anyway, aren't we then" the older of the twins observed and looked around. Truth be told, if it weren't for Daryl then he would've just kept walking. For the first time he didn't really have a plan, he just wanted more time with Murphy, so he could talk to him. But Daryl seemed to be way ahead of him, he'd even thought about the car and obviously wanted to go back to Woodbury. And he hadn't even told Murphy yet…

Oh great.

"Hey!" the younger MacManus twin suddenly roared yet again and grabbed Daryl by his shoulder to pull him back, signaling that they obviously weren't done yet. Connor could already see the look on his friend's face. The hunter was literally a second away from lashing out himself, and since he knew that Daryl didn't exactly like Murphy he came to the conclusion that it was his job to act. Jesus, now he really felt like the older brother, only that he had _two_ younger quarrelsome brothers now.

"Alright, Murph. He was just jokin. Let's just…" he said and place a hand on his twin's shoulder to pull him back, which was the first time he was actually touching him since their parting. He wanted to keep talking, already getting back into his old role as the peacemaker, but he didn't expect what happened next.   
  
"You DON'T.." Murphy suddenly yelled and jumped back, out of brother's reach, away from Daryl.  
  
He was staring at Connor with wide eyes, chest heaving and heart obviously pounding in his chest.

  
"You _don't_ touch me" he breathed and then turned around to keep walking, face flushed from both anger but also fear.

Once again Connor stood there, absolutely petrified and terrified by his twin's reaction. Not once in his life had he ever heard Murphy say something like that and actually mean it. His brother had used to like touch. Whether it had been a gentle tap on his back, sharing at bed with arms wrapped around each other, whether it had been the gentle caressing of a shoulder, an arm, a hand. They had been all about physical contact, all their lives, and now _this_.

Daryl looked at both brothers in surprise, picking up on how this was apparently wrong. He could see the look on Connor's face, how quiet he got yet again, and instinctively knew that he had to save the day yet again. He walked past his friend and put a gentle hand on his shoulder, letting it slip down his arm before letting go, to let the Irishman know that everything was going to be okay, that he got it, that he was there.

"'m gonna handle it."

But Connor just stood there and stared into nothingness while Daryl rushed after Murphy.

"Hey. Hey! Where yah going?" he shouted after him, but the younger MacManus twin kept walking.

"Back ta my fuckin group, not that it's any of yer fuckin business!" Murphy spat and walked even faster, hands buried in his pockets and shoulders pulled up like he was trying to shield his head and neck from something invisible. Daryl knew this sort of reaction, hated that he could relate to that, which made them have one thing in common.   
  
Just like him Murphy feared touch from a family member, because the very person had caused him so much pain once that he feared the return of the same pain with every other touch. Every _new_ touch. It didn't even matter that Connor never had and never did intend to ever hurt him in any way. But the fear, the trauma, it was just there.

"Where's that? We ain't gonna let yah go alone!"

"I ain't gonna tell ye! I don't want ye here, don't ye understand ye fuckin redneck!" Murphy yelled back, and Daryl turned around for a second to see how Connor was doing. His friend still wasn't moving at all, and somehow that just send him over the edge. He was so furious with Murphy, this little fucking _prick_ , who was such a fucking pussy about a tiny headshot.   
  
The little _Irish fuck_ really didn't know what he had with Connor, this bastard who'd do anything for the little shit, so really. He didn't _get_ to leave, do whatever he wanted or be with anyone else. He was going to -make- him understand that he wasn't allowed to just leave and hurt Connor like that, and it certainly didn't matter that he was his brother and actually had the privilege of humiliating the Irishman whenever he wanted. Daryl gritted his teeth, clenched his fists and then started running, after Murphy, before he got the chance to run away yet again.

"Wait!" he shouted and got just what he wanted.   
Murphy did turn around, now seemingly pissed off by the fact that he was being followed.

"Listen, I don't even fuckin know ye and 'm not just g.." he didn't get to keep talking because then a hard fist connected with his jaw, sending him flying backwards to the ground, knocked out cold, silent and 'obedient' at last. Daryl took a deep breath and looked down at the unconscious man to his feet, not being able to fight the relieved smile that broke through.

_Damn. This felt liberating._

Months of picturing a punch like that, and now he'd finally gotten the chance to do just that.

"Little payment for nearly making your bro hang himself" he muttered and then bent over to get the unconscious heap of misery that was Murphy MacManus, almost gently picking him up and throwing him over his shoulder to carry him back to Connor. It didn't take too long, because his friend already came running.

"What te _fuck_ did ye just do?!" Connor yelled, completely outraged by what he had just witnessed.  
Daryl just walked past him, still carrying Murphy, heading for the gas station and their car.

"I said I'd handle it" he just answered, trying really hard not to smile or even giggle around Connor because he felt damn proud of himself.


	25. Are We There Yet?

Connor was driving down the highway, not really knowing what he was supposed to feel. His heart was still pounding in his chest, it had never slowed down ever since they had found his brother. The Irishman gently raised his head at that thought, staring in the rear-view mirror, to have a look at the backseat. There he was, sprawled out, lying there, still knocked out cold from Daryl's hard punch. Connor could clearly see the terrible scar on his twins head, and despite the guilt, despite the shame he still had to smile.

Murphy.

Murphy was in the backseat. Right behind him, with him, alive. 340 days without him, but now he was back. Not a hallucination, not a dream figure. He was here. In the flesh. Connor smirked even more and grabbed the steering wheel a bit tighter and then looked back at the road. He was beyond tired after staying awake for two days straight but he needed to drive the car, needed to be in control, needed to take Murphy to a safe place.

It was silent in the car, since his brother was still unconscious and Daryl wouldn't say a word.  
The hunter was sitting next to Connor in the passenger seat, elbow rested on the door frame and staring out of the window.  
He still looked rather grumpy, but not -so- pissed anymore, so Connor figured that maybe he was allowed to talk to him again.

"Ye really didn't have ta punch him this fuckin hard" he muttered after a while and Daryl turned his head to look at him with a snort.

"Kid deserved it" he muttered and then stared out of his window again, which made the oldest of the three a bit angry.

"Oi, this is me fucking brother yer talking about. Watch yer tongue" he said, fully enjoying that he could finally play big brother again. He watched Murphy in the rearview mirror for yet another moment and then moved his head to the left and right, trying to relax his neck muscles a bit.

"His head's hurt. Ye could've made it worse" he muttered and Daryl shrugged.

"Yeah, all thanks to you, not me" the hunter growled, getting more and more annoyed by Connor's sudden fussing over his twin.

The lack of an answer made him realize his mistake though.  
When he looked at the Irishman he could see the expression on his face, since that statement had obviously hit home.

Too soon.

"Sorry" he muttered but Connor still wouldn't answer. He kept looking at his twin every couple of minutes instead, as if he was making sure the kid wouldn't disappear from one second to the next. Daryl let out a gentle sigh and leaned back, feeling another stab of jealousy in his chest. He hated that they weren't alone anymore, despite the fact that Murphy was still knocked out and not talking.

"What's the plan then?" he asked quietly and watched the trees pass by the window as they sped down the highway.

"You two going back t'Boston?" he went on, trying to hide the fact that he was still jealous, upset and disappointed.

Connor shook his head and drove around an abandoned car.

"Nah. I think you'n I both know that the big cities are far too dangerous fer this shit" he murmured and looked at Murphy yet again.

"No. I wanna keep 'im safe. As safe as possible. Woodbury's our best option there. They got walls, 24 hour patrols, electricity, supplies and weapons. I don't wanna take any risks. I gotta protect him from everything."

Daryl nodded slowly, feeling relieved but at the same time not really happy. Of course, he was beyond happy that Connor was going to be around him, but the truth was that he didn't really want to see him fuss over Murphy all the time, showing affection and love and making it obvious that the little shit was the most important human being in his life now.

"Y'know that those freaks back in Augusta know where we're from. There's a good chance they'll come looking. For both of yah."

Connor snorted and shrugged.

"Let 'em try. Nothing we can't handle" he said and there was silence for a while.

"Or do ye want us ta leave?" the Irishman went on after a while, giving Daryl a side glance which his friend returned.

The hunter wouldn't say anything to that, simply because he didn't know what to say.  
He didn't even know why he'd said those things about Augusta.

_Did he? Want Connor to leave? Simply because he couldn't handle his jealousy, or even worse, his stupid childish and girlish feelings?_

Not that he felt anything for the freak. Of course not. That was gay.  
Good friends, that's what Connor had said. That's what they'd agreed on.

"Dude. I know that ye have a hard time believing me this, but what've said ta you multiple times didn't change just because of Murph. This past year won't just undo itself just because I got me brother back. I thank you fer everything you've done fer me, I didn't use ye, and I sure as hell ain't just gonna go and pretend that nothin fuckin happened. I owe you. Forever, actually."

"Shut up. Just thought you wanted to go. You wouldn't stop talkin about leaving just a month ago. So I figured…" the hunter muttered, trying to mask his true thoughts from his friend. Connor turned his head away and looked out of the window as well.

"All right. Just sounded like ye _want_ me ta go."

"Do whatever yah gotta do" Daryl growled, raising up walls between them and looking out of the window as well.  
  
He figured that it was about time now, to cut all loose ends, their connection since he didn't fancy some stupid fucked up triangle thing anyway. Once again Connor looked hurt, but then looked in the rear view mirror to watch his brother instead. The sight instantly seemed to make him feel better, because there it was again, the tiny happy and overwhelmed smile.

Which only made it worse for Daryl. His usual pushing away technique wasn't really working anymore, he couldn't use it to hurt his friend without having to fear that he could lose him. Now he had Murphy, the antidote to his behaviour. His brother, who would make him feel better right away, and who would only make the rift between them even bigger. The rift _he_ was creating to keep Connor at a distance because he still couldn't handle their relationship.  
  
He didn't get the chance to try and save the moment, to apologize or make Connor 'like' him again, because right then Murphy chose to wake up. The younger MacManus stirred a bit and then started moving in the backseat with low growls, like he was in pain, his jaw or head aching from Daryl's punch. It automatically made the hunter smirk, despite his previous fuck up he regretted.  
 _  
Serves yah right, emo kid._

"What te fuck…" Murphy mumbled and tried to sit up, blinking a couple of times and rubbing his right eye.

Both Connor and Daryl looked in the rearview mirror to watch the younger MacManus wake up, both smiling, but for different reasons.  
Connor was right back into his big brother mode.

"Careful. He hit yer head pretty hard" the older Irishman said and tried to reach out for his twin while still steering the car.

"Where the fuck 'm I?" Murphy suddenly roared, springing up until he was almost standing.  
  
He turned his head multiple times as he tried to make out where he was. Once he realized that he was inside a car he turned around abruptly to stare out of the rear window, trying to see any familiar houses, anything that suggested that he was still in Savannah. But he was far away from it. There were nothing but trees to the left and right of the highway, with occasional lonely farmhouses and car wrecks by the side of the road thrown right in. Nothing looked familiar here, and the car was driving at full speed, leaving him no option to jump out and get back to Savannah, back to his group.

"Murph! Relax, we're just…" Connor said calmly, trying to reason with his brother and keep him from having yet another fit, but Murphy wouldn't let him finish.

"Yah fuckin kidnapped me!" the younger MacManus roared and grabbed the door opener to pull and get his point across.

He didn't like being in here, especially not with Connor and the fucking lookalike _asshole_.  
Not when he still had trouble forgiving his brother, and he certainly didn't like getting forced into anything.

"Just calm down! Fuck, I knew you'd still need the freaking child-proof lock, brother" Connor answered and still tried to reach out for his twin, to grab his hand and calm him down, but Murphy stayed out of his reach and wouldn't calm down at all.

"Fuck ye! My group's still back there! Waiting fer me! I was gonna help them and they fuckin need me. I was gonna go back and warn them about Crawford but ye had ta screw it up by fuckin kidnappin me! Take me back right fuckin now!" he roared and started kicking Connor's seat. Not to hurt him, just to make it clear that he didn't like this shit _at all_. Before his slightly older sibling got the chance to say something to that Daryl turned around and glared at the younger MacManus twin.

"Calm the fuck down, you pussy. He's your bro and there ain't no such thing as kidnapping your own damn flesh and blood. Now sit down and chill out or 'm gonna make yah!" he roared and threatened his lookalike with his fist. Murphy stopped kicking Connor's seat and then concentrated on Daryl, glaring at him with angry eyes and leaning forward.

"Oh fuck ye! Who asked ye, you fuckin redneck?! Why don't ye just go and fuck yer sister or something!" he yelled back, which only made everything worse.

"Murph!" Connor shouted between their yelling and tried to keep both his friend and brother from fighting, but it was useless.

"What'd you just say you little shit?" Daryl growled and tried to climb into the back of the car to get to Murphy.

"Alright just stop it!" Connor yelled but was ignored once again.

He had trouble steering the car AND trying to hold on to Daryl to keep him from climbing back and punching Murphy again, but the hunter was almost unstoppable.

He and Murphy kept yelling and each other and Daryl felt such a sudden and incredible outburst of anger that he really couldn't control himself. All the anger, the hatred, the frustration and violent thoughts he had kept inside all this time suddenly wanted out. All the many times he had fought really hard to keep them inside to protect Connor, despite his obvious _wants_ to hurt him and punch him just like back on the farm, all the hatred and loss he felt because of Merle's sudden death wanted out, wanted to escape through his fist.

And since he hated Murphy with every fibre of his being, since he didn't care about him at all he saw it as his chance to let go of his anger, to truly channel them without caring if he hurt the other or not. Murphy was only fueling that rage with all his yapping, all his provoking and insulting so he tried to climb back, already preparing himself for a fight just like the younger MacManus twin, who tried to kick him in the face, in his guts, anywhere.

"STOP THIS SHIT OR I TURN THIS FUCKIN CAR AROUND RIGHT FUCKIN NOW!" Connor suddenly yelled really loud and hit the brakes as hard as he could, sending both Daryl and Murphy flying forward. The vehicle came to an abrupt halt, tires screeching and shaking a bit, and within seconds it was dead silent in and outside the car. All three men were panting, Murphy and Daryl because of their fits of anger, Connor because of the sudden burst of adrenaline. The oldest of the three was staring at his brother and friend with mad, wide eyes, even using _the finger_ on them, like an angry mother.

"We're in the middle of fuckin nowhere, there's walking dead people all around us, there's a freak lab hunting us because of our blood, and I haven't slept in three fuckin days, now get! a fucking! hold of yerself!" Connor roared and looked at both Daryl and Murphy, finger still raised.

"Both of ye!"

Murphy started chewing on his fingernail and tried to look away but couldn't. He didn't even know why. He wanted to look away, get out of the car, walk back to Savannah and tell Connor to go fuck himself, he didn't get to tell him shit after what he had done to him back in Boston, but for some reason he was paralyzed and nervous. He just looked at his brother. No matter what he tried, Connor was too authoritarian right now, he respected him too much and didn't want to disappoint him. It was in his guts somehow, no matter how hard he tried to fight it.

Daryl, on the other hand, just huffed and turned his head to stare out of the window with an angry frown, both fists still clenched and entire body way too tight, eradiating anger and violence. Connor looked at his friend a bit longer, trying to come up with something to say, but couldn't really think of something. Daryl wasn't his brother, he was just a friend and far too stubborn. He didn't need to listen to him, which was exactly what he did.

But he did have authority over Murphy. One year of not seeing each other and having problems or not. So he turned around to look at his twin, not really wanting it to handle it this way but knowing that there was no other option. He knew that it was going to backfire no matter what, but there was nothing else he could do. He really wanted to handle his twin with kids gloves after everything he had done to him, he didn't want to be mean, hurt him or make him any angrier than he already was, but this was the only way to get Murphy to listen to him.

"I know that you'd rather stay back with yer friends and protect them, but fuck that, Murph! Cities are a fuckin dead end now. They're too dangerous, this Crawford place was right on yer fuckin doorstep, and there's no way 'm letting ye stay there and risk yer fuckin life over a buncha people ye met a couple of days, weeks, or months ago. So maybe I am fuckin kidnapping you, I'm only doing this ta keep ye safe. We're gonna take you to a secure place with lotsa people, and ye don't get ta fuckin complain here! Now get a fuckin hold of yerself and believe it or not, 'm just trying ta do what's best fer you. And yer fuckin negative attitude and childishness ain't helping any!"

He then turned around and turned the engine back on.

"Jesus!" he growled and drove on before his twin got any ideas about jumping out of the car.

But Murphy still wouldn't let go.

"'m fuckin childish? Fuck you, Connor! Yer fuckin boyfriend's the one who knocked me out cold insteada just asking me and givin me a fuckin chance first! Besides, don't give me tha fuckin ' _I'm just trying ta do what's best fer you'_ speech. Yer the one who didn't give a fuckin shit about me fer almost a year! And suddenly yer turning up and think ye can just decide over me and drag me ta places I don't even fuckin know? Yer the one who fuckin left me in the first place, so _you_ don't get ta…"

"Shut yah stupid hole!" Daryl suddenly yelled and kicked the glove department hard. He'd been watching Connor during Murphy's entire speech, seeing his hands clench around the steering wheel, seeing how the expression on his face changed like someone had stabbed him in his guts and was twisting the knife around now. Murphy fell silent, surprised by the fact that Daryl was suddenly barging in and breaking up their fight.

Connor turned his head to look at his friend, just as surprised but at the same time thankful. His eyes were red already, but at the same time he also looked incredibly angry. Daryl nodded, getting what the look was supposed to mean. Connor couldn't take Murphy's words right now, and he certainly couldn't hear one more accusation after another.  
  
Because he was yelling them at himself inside his head all the time, and he didn't need them said out loud on top of that. Daryl knew his friend well enough, how much Murphy's words hurt him, so he leaned back and stared out of the window, fighting hard not to jump back yet again and bury his fist in Murphy's face. He only did it for Connor's sake though, not for his stupid brother's.

"Yah comin with us. End of discussion. Now stop wettin yah pants" he said and the discussion was done.

Murphy still looked furious, but seemed to pick up on the vibe, that the fight was over and useless.

"Go fuck y'self" he snapped and then lay down on the backseat, back turned on Connor and Daryl.

"Both of ye."

* * *

"Fuck" Connor said about one and a half hours later, just seconds before the car engine suddenly died. Daryl shifted in his seat, nearly having fallen asleep during the silent drive back to Woodbury. "What?" he asked sleepily, looking out of the front window to see if there was any trouble ahead. He couldn't see anything, but the car was slowing down, now that the engine was dead and not responding anymore.

"We're outta gas" Connor said and tried to turn the engine back on, but it was useless.  
He'd thought that they would manage to get back to their hometown with the gas that they had, but there it was, gone, dead, kaputt.

"I thought we were doin fine" the hunter mumbled and tried to have a look at the fuel gauge.

"Me fuckin too, but we obviously fuckin ain't" Connor answered and then hit the steering wheel with a frustrated sigh.  
He finally hit the brakes to get the car to stop. He leaned his head on the steering wheel for a moment and closed his eyes, frustration fully taking over.

"I told ye that we should fuckin go check out the rest of the city fer fuel first" he muttered and Daryl raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Fuck you. I ain't the one who couldn't wait to get his retard brother outta there without as much as a second glance."

"Oh, fuck you" Connor answered, sounding more exhausted than angry though.

He raised his head after a moment and looked out of the window, to check for any abandoned cars on the interstate.  
He could see a couple of them, stranded either right in the middle of the road or by the side, two of them crashed a bit further up ahead.

"'m gonna go see if I can scrounge up some gas" he muttered and opened the door abruptly, leaving Daryl no chance to say anything to that. It was obvious that Connor was pissed, tired and done with everything right now, so the hunter wasn't too sure whether he should follow his friend. He turned his head to check on Murphy, not really knowing what he was supposed to do. He feared that the younger MacManus twin could use the chance and escape should he decide to go and help Connor, but at the same time he didn't really want to leave his friend alone up ahead, with no cover, no one to protect his exhausted ass.

The Irishman was still limping a bit from his jump down the building back in Augusta, which made it even more ridiculous. Daryl sighed and turned around once more to look at the younger MacManus, only to see that he was asleep on the backseat. He chose not to stay with the kid because his face annoyed the crap out of him. He grabbed the car keys instead, getting out of the car and then locking every single door plus the trunk to keep Murphy inside the car, to keep him from running away, no matter what.

Even if it meant that he could have a heat stroke in there.

 _He better have,_ he thought as he put the keys away with an angry smile and then followed Connor, walking towards a wrecked Dacia and Ford that seemed to have collided at full speed. It didn't take too long and he was with Connor, who was standing in front of the Dacia, both hands resting on its hood, doing nothing, staring at nothing in particular. Daryl walked slower and frowned.

"You alright?" he muttered after a moment of just watching Connor, who wouldn't stop staring but shook his head gently in response.  
  
"I thought it'd be easier, man" he said quietly and kept staring like that, like he was trying to look at his reflection on the engine hood, eyes empty and upset. "I think he fuckin hates me" he went on, even more quietly than before. Daryl knew that his friend meant his brother. He'd seen them interact after all, seen Murphy's reaction, heard him say all those terrible things that were true but still cruel. Connor swallowed hard and then shifted, walking towards the side of the car, to open it and check its interior for anything useful.

"Maybe he's right. Maybe we should've left him there" he muttered and Daryl chewed on his lower lip. He wanted nothing more than tell Connor that yes, they should totally bring Murphy back and leave him there so they could be on their own, but he knew that this certainly wasn't what Connor wanted, what he needed. He approached his friend slowly and looked back at their car, where Murphy was, the one that fucked up everything these days.

"Yah've seen the city. And you've heard 'em outside the church. Savannah ain't safe. You're right. Woodbury's your best chance right now" he answered, really hating the answer but he still kept going. "Besides, the kid wouldn't know what's good for 'im even if the whole world'd prove it to him."

Connor snorted and even smirked a bit, although he still looked far from happy.

"He obviously made friends back there. Can't blame him that he wants ta be with 'em insteada me" he muttered and slowed down with his searching bags, until he suddenly stopped completely and looked down. "Fuck. I don't even know anythin 'bout his group. Or his friends. Or what he's been up to fer the past couple of months….I know nothin 'bout me own brother…" he said and then buried the heel of his right hand in his eye.

"I don't know 'im anymore. He's…changed. He's bitter and…angry."

"Kid's gotta be" Daryl muttered and leaned against the car with a sigh. He tried to hide the fact that he was annoyed by the conversation.

"Wouldn't have made this far, otherwise."

"Aye" Connor said quietly and then got out of the car while rubbing his forehead.

"Nothing in here" he went on and then tried to walk around the car to check the other one, but Daryl suddenly reached out and grabbed his arm to stop him. Connor looked down on himself to examine the hand that was gripping his upper arm tight. He then fixed his eyes on his friend's face. The hunter was just looking back at him, making it clear that he wanted to say something.

"You're doin the right thing. Maybe he's changed. So've you" he said and kept his eyes glued on Connor's because he wanted to make him understand that this was important.

"Don't let 'im fuck up everything -I- repaired" he said, and maybe it was a bit of a warning as well. Because it was true. He'd been there the entire past year, watched Connor fall really deep and then get back up again, and that only because of _him_ , because he happened to have the other ungrateful bastard's face. There was no way he was going to watch that fall apart now. Not after everything.

He then let go of his friend and got away from the car, to search another wreck on the other side of the interstate. Neither he nor Connor would speak after that, the Irishman still lost in thoughts and upset over his twin's behaviour, and Daryl too pissed because of Murphy. He was heading for a red Sedan that was standing right in the middle of the road, abandoned, with its doors and trunk wide open. He doubted that he would find a gas can, but maybe there was still some gas in the tank.

The hunter scanned the surrounding tree line with narrowed eyes, scanning for any possible threats. He only discovered one lonely walker scuffling around back there, but since the undead didn't attack him anymore he didn't pay too much attention to the man. Daryl knelt down next to the car instead, using one of their tubes to stick it inside the tank and test for fuel. He could see the moving feet of another walker right on the other side of the car and the smell was unmistakable, but once again didn't really waste any second thoughts on that one because he was still way too pissed off anyway.

He sucked on the tube a couple of times, preparing himself for the disgusting taste of fuel, but nothing would come.

Empty tank.

Brilliant.

He stopped sucking on the tube and then pulled it out, getting up from the ground while doing so.  
He turned around with a frustrated growl and tried to spot Connor on the other side of the interstate.

"Ain't nothin in here!" he shouted and Connor's face popped up just above the other car's trunk.

"Same here!" he responded and stood up as well, scratching his head and looking around.

"Looks like we're walking" Daryl muttered and looked down at the tube in his hands, rolling up so he could carry it more easily.

"Watch out!" Connor suddenly yelled and startled the hunter, who looked up in surprise to see what was going on. The Irishman was running towards him with wide eyes, and just before the younger of the two friends got to ask what was going on he could already hear, smell and then feel it. A filthy and bloody hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder tight, pulling him back, towards a rotten, stinking mouth.

He could hear the growl, the raspy breathing and widened his eyes in surprise as well, reacting on an instant. He grabbed the hand and ignored the disgusting feel, only to lean forward and pull with all the strength he could gather. Daryl managed to pull the undead over his back and then made him fall to the ground in front of him, rotten shoulder joint cracking and braking easily. The half rotten man was still holding on to the hunter's hand, snapping at him and trying to get back to him, obviously wanting to _bite_ him.

Daryl struggled and fought as he could, heart pounding and nearly skipping a beat because he was so shocked and surprised. He really hadn't seen this one coming, that a walker decided to attack him in the middle of nowhere, out of nowhere. He lunged out with his feet and then buried his heel in the walker's face as hard as he could, smashing the already weakened skull under his feet and spilling black and rotten brain matter all over the asphalt.

Just then Connor chose to appear in front of him, out of breath, eyes still widened in shock.

"What the fuck?!" he yelled and looked down at the undead his friend had just killed, replaying everything he'd just seen in his mind a second time.

"I don't know!" Daryl answered and looked at his friend, just as surprised and confused.

"The fucker just came outta nowhere and tried to rip junks outta me" he answered and then kicked the walker's side a couple of times, face an angry grimace because he couldn't believe this had really happened. "I. ain't. your. happy meal!" he growled and underlined each word with a kick.

Then they heard another growl coming from the trees, coming from the walker Daryl had seen moving before.  
The undead's long hair was hanging down one side of his face, bloody scalp inclusive.  
He was staring at Daryl with wide, dead and yet insane eyes, like the death of his fellow undead friend had awoken something inside of him.

"Dude, if tha fucker attacked ye then…" Connor said and looked at the moving undead in front of them, the walker that was slowly getting closer and closer.

"Then this one obviously wanna do the same" Daryl concluded, suddenly feeling both angry and bitter.

Connor approached the undead without a warning, making the hunter reach out and call after him.

"Wait!" he shouted but the Irishman ignored him, walking faster and faster to close the distance between him and the undead.

"I wanna try something!" Connor shouted back and was almost right in front of the walking corpse, Coming to a halt and just standing there. The walker kept staggering towards him and Daryl, who stayed where he was and waited to see what his friend was up to. The walker came closer and closer, all awkward and stinking and bloody scalp and hair flapping in the wind with each movement.

He walked right past Connor, like he was made of thin air.

But he still kept moving, eyes fixed on Daryl, reaching out and picking up speed the closer he got to the hunter.

So this was it. Connor, and probably Murphy were still 'invisible' to the walkers, carrying whatever they had inside their brains, in their blood because both of them had been bitten. He'd never been bitten though. He only had Connor's blood, which had been pumped inside him about a month ago. It had never been in _his_ blood, never been about him, so he shouldn't be surprised that it was going to stop sooner or later, right? But he still was. He couldn't believe that he was really supposed to get back to this shit, running away from hordes of undead instead of walking among them and using them as cover. For days he had seen them get more and more interested in him, but he had tried to ignore it. But this was it now.

It was over.

No more cover. The fear was back, the incredible threat, the hopelessness. He wasn't special anymore, not connected with Connor in a sick way.  
Now he and Murphy were the special ones. The twins. The freaks with freak blood and special treatment. But not him.

Another wall.

He was snapped out of his train of thoughts when Connor stabbed the back of the walker's head when he got too close to the hunter.  
The undead dropped dead between them. Both Connor and Daryl looked at each other in surprise, realization really hitting them.

Daryl was no longer 'immune'.

Connor cleaned his knife and then put it back in his holster, approaching Daryl and looking at the two bodies around them once more.

"Fuck" he muttered and then fixed his eyes on the hunter, his shoulders, his neck.

"Are ye alright?" he asked and tried to place a hand on Daryl, who moved to stay out of his reach.

"Yeah" the hunter just growled, suddenly feeling extremely uncomfortable with the whole situation.

He sorted his clothes and buttoned up his shirt that had been loosened during the fight with the walker. He then turned around to keep his surprise from Connor, to hide the fact that he was beyond freaked out and most of all: upset by the whole thing. As if Murphy's return wasn't freaking enough to get between them. They were less and less equal, and that just pissed him off.

"We should get te fuck away from here before more of 'em come. There's no gas in the cars. Maybe we'll find a new one further down the highway" Connor suggested and Daryl nodded in agreement, but couldn't fight the frustrated snort that broke through. One month of not giving a shit about walkers around them, and now they were back to this shit. And Connor had to babysit him just because he was back to being every walker's favourite chew toy. Perfect.

Add one more reason to the list why he wanted Connor to fucking _leave_. He didn't want to watch him fuss over Murphy all the time. And he didn't want him to fuss over him now, just because of this one simple disadvantage. He didn't need a babysitter. He didn't want to be weak, but around Connor the whole getting attacked by walkers was a _weakness._ And he hated that. More than anything. Because this would also make Murphy superior once again.

He walked faster, back to the car so he could get his crossbow, which was more important than ever.  
Now he really needed it again, to keep geeks at a distance, to protect _himself_.

From one second to the next he was beyond worried again, felt the large, fucked up and dangerous world close in around him.  
Suddenly he saw them everywhere, walkers, bloody, undead, ready to tear him apart. Bury their rotten teeth in his flesh and tear him to pieces.  
This was real. This was dangerous. He felt vulnerable, no longer invincible, and terribly alive and alone in a broken world.

* * *

Connor, Murphy and Daryl were still walking down the interstate, all three silent, not really walking right next to each other, keeping distance. Although Daryl had insisted that he should be up front with his crossbow it was still Connor who was having a lead, walking a straight line, eyes fixed on their surroundings like a guard dog, and smoking a cigarette.  
  
Daryl was walking behind him, crossbow in his hands as he kept scanning the trees and houses to their left and right, still suddenly incredibly aware of the walkers. This was another reason why he was walking between them. Connor thought that maybe his and Murphy's 'scent' would cover up his own, keep protecting him from the undead. Daryl thought that it was useless, he still felt terribly exposed, which only made him grab his crossbow even tighter, teeth clenching, brows furrowing and anger burning in his guts.

Murphy was silently following the other two men, keeping his distance just as much, hands buried deep in the pocket of his jeans and staring at the road with an angry frown. He didn't care about the walkers, about the men in front of him or whatever was going on around him in general. He didn't want to care, didn't even want to be here anyway. He could smell Connor's smoke and felt the desperate need to smoke as well, but he had refused to take one from his brother, simply for the sake of refusing it because it was Connor who offered it. He still wouldn't talk to neither of the two, feeling both angry but at the same time confused because of the whole situation.

He still couldn't believe that his stupid brother had dragged him away from Savannah. Invading his life like a hurricane from one second to the next, claiming him like he deserved it. And now he'd dragged him out of here, without a car, in the middle of nowhere. He had no idea where they were going or what they were doing, and he didn't know what to feel whenever he looked at his brother.

Part of him still wanted to run up to him, shove this stupid Daryl guy out of the way and then hug Connor and never let him freaking go. His whole body was longing for a connection with his brother, he wanted to touch, hug, cry, and tell him how truly happy he was that they were reunited. That he still had a family, that not everything and everyone was lost, even if the world was falling apart around them. He wasn't alone. And that certainly -made- him feel better. He really wanted Connor to help him remember everything he'd forgotten about because of the injury. He wanted Connor to tell him who -he- was, and the anticipation was almost killing him.

But the other part of him was simply far too dominant right now. _How was he ever supposed to forgive Connor what he had done?_ He automatically reached up for his head, where the bullet had hit him almost one year ago. _How was he ever supposed to forget that his own brother had tried to kill him, had abandoned him?_

 _He thought you're dead and you asked him to do it_ , the voice of reason in his head tried to remind him, but Murphy didn't want to care. He chose to ignore it. He wanted to dwell on it for a while. _Fuck it, he should've known that I didn't -really- want it. He should've -felt- that I was still alive. he should've known_. The younger MacManus wanted to make his sibling understand the sheer _agony_ he had been through because of him. And he wanted him to suffer, now that he had simply found himself another guy. A guy with his face, a guy he hated more than anything. How he was walking between them, constantly around Connor, snapping at him and getting involved in _their_ fights, protecting _his_ brother and acting like he got the right to do that, like he was far more important than him.

He just wanted the asshole gone. Away from them. So he and Connor could have some alone time. Figure this out.  
He wanted to confront his brother. Ask him all his questions. Let Connor answer.  
Give Connor the chance to give him one good reason _why_ he was supposed to forgive him.

But Daryl was right in freaking front of him.

Murphy let out a pissed but quiet growl and kicked a tiny stone away.

"I think we should find a place up in the woods and crash fer the night. It's getting dark sooner or later, and we still gotta find firewood if we wanna build a campfire" Connor suddenly suggested and stopped walking, so he could turn around and look at his twin and best friend. Both Murphy and Daryl stopped as well, the younger MacManus twin just looking pissed and annoyed, Daryl looking tired and lost in thoughts. The hunter chewed on his lower lip and turned his head to the side to have a look at the surrounding woods.

They had never found a working car, or a car that still had gas in it, so maybe his friend was right. It wouldn't be such a good idea to be walking around in the open in the middle of the night, when they couldn't really see shit and he was vulnerable again. He still hated that, knowing that walkers would probably attack him and that this was the only reason they had to be far more careful than before.

"Hmhm" he mumbled and nodded, shifting while grabbing his crossbow tighter.

There was one good thing about everything, the woods were his territory, an area where he was far superior than both Connor and Murphy. And he really needed something to feel strong right now. "Let's get moving" he said and took over the lead without actually really talking about it. Connor accepted the change of positions without another word, because he knew that this was Daryl's speciality now. The woods, survival, sleeping outside surrounded by animals, undead, and god knows what kind of other fucked up people were all around them.

Whereas Daryl started moving up the little hill by the interstate to enter the woods Connor used the opportunity to wait for his twin so he could look at him.

"You okay with that, Murph?" he asked quietly, really wanting to talk to his twin, and so they could stop fighting, so Murphy could stop hating him so much. It was a peace offering, it was important to him that they were on the same page. Murphy just looked at him for a while, chewing on his lower lip, then turning his head for a moment to look at Daryl, the woods, and then the interstate, back to where they had left the car a while ago. He then finally looked at Connor again, still looking rather stubborn and angry instead of forgiving.

"Now yer asking?" he mumbled and looked at his brother a little while longer.

"I just want ye...ta be okay with it. Yer opinion's always been important t'me. Don't think that's changed" Connor answered and really wanted to reach out, stroke his twin's shoulder, smile at him, love him. But he kept his distance, not really wanting to strain his luck with physical contact, but with words.

"You'n me?" he asked, hope showing in his voice, eyes looking just as hopeful.

Murphy really wanted to agree. But that was just wrong. Fucked up even. He couldn't just pretend that nothing had happened. He couldn't just go all lovey-dovey with Connor before having talked about anything. The way he saw it - he was practically talking to a stranger right now. And you didn't just trust strangers without any second thoughts.  
  
He snorted, shook his head and then slowly started walking again, not giving an answer, leaving Connor to stand there and look all miserable yet again. It hurt him just as much, seeing his sibling like that. He felt pretty much the same amount of pain because of his own actions, but he simply wasn't ready yet. He just followed Daryl into the woods, and a couple of minutes later Connor followed them as well. Without saying another word.


	26. Loss

It didn't take too long until they found a decent spot to put up their camp. Or more like - Daryl did. Connor was used to letting his friend do all the survival work, and Murphy was just silently followed them wherever they went. They only had one tent, which they had found in one of the abandoned cars, but no one would really talk about it.

Connor still couldn't keep his eyes off his brother, watching his every step, his every breath, every single little thing he was doing. Murphy still looked rather angry, but the whole hiking part had distracted him a bit. Daryl didn't seem too cheery as well, still being pissed off by Murphy's sheer presence and the fact that the whole immunity business had suddenly disappeared. Connor, much in contrast to the other two, wasn't angry. He was just plain tired and maybe a bit depressed, simply because his brother was so different and because he still didn't know how to handle his relationship with Murphy and Daryl at the same time.

He needed distraction, which was why he volunteered to put up the tent. Daryl just nodded and grabbed his crossbow, growling something about how he was going to go look for firewood. Connor tried to reason with his friend first, reminding him that he was no longer safe from walkers, but the hunter just kept walking with an angry growl, mumbling something about how he didn't need a babysitter and how he had never needed a babysitter before the whole immunity crap anyway. He was too eager to get away from the camp, away from the MacManus twins, away from his anger, so he disappeared down the small hill, deeper inside the woods.

Connor just watched his friend leave for a while, sticks for the tent in his hands, a worried frown crossing his face. He knew exactly what Daryl's behaviour meant. His friend was pulling away. Getting back to how everything had been prior meeting him. Connor felt a stab in his chest, knowing that his friend was only doing that because of Murphy, because he was probably jealous, and he wanted nothing more than cut himself in half, so he could be with both of them. But he was left no other choice. Neither Murphy nor Daryl were giving him one.

So here he was, about to put up a tent, lowering his head and then seeing Murphy walk around. His sibling was already carrying two stones, making it obvious that he was looking for more so they could build a proper campfire. The younger MacManus still hadn't said a single thing, about his plans, what he was doing, or if he liked it here, but at least he was doing something -for- the camp, suggesting that he was slowly accepting his fate with his newfound twin.

Connor started working on the tent. He would look at Murphy every now and then, nervous, upset, but at the same time adoring, as realization slowly hit him. For the first time ever since they had found each other they were actually _alone_. It wasn't like he liked that Daryl was gone. His friend still mattered very much, but maybe this was exactly what they both needed.

Murphy kept his distance but was searching all around Connor and their new camp, and he was within earshot almost all the time. The older sibling still wouldn't stop looking at his younger half, trying to figure out how to start a conversation without making Murphy hurt even more. And once again he realized how ridiculous the whole situation really was.   
  
Back in the old days it had been -so- easy to break the ice with Murphy. He'd start the conversation with a dirty joke, make his twin laugh and they'd laugh and cheer together. Sometimes they hadn't even needed their voices to talk. Eye contact had been enough, their special 'psychic link' had been enough. But everything was gone now.. Destroyed, by the terrible deed. Connor swallowed hard and looked down at the heap of misery that was the tent. Guilt was slowly eating him up, constantly reminding him that it was his fault everything between them was broken.

"Is it true that ye've been at the hospital in Augusta?" he asked, the only topic he could come up with that was relatively neutral and wouldn't give Murphy a chance to snap at him. His sibling looked up from his collecting stones and glared at Connor for a couple of seconds, only to resume work. He wouldn't answer.   
  
Connor sighed and tried again after a moment.  
  
"How'd you get here in the first place, Murph?" he asked, and heard a loud plop a couple of seconds later.   
  
When he turned around he could see that Murphy had dropped all the stones in front of the tent, glaring at Connor through narrowed eyes.

"I thought that me not answering made shit pretty clear between us. Silence usually means that people don't wanna fuckin talk, Connor" he said, eyes still gleaming with nothing but anger. All the brotherly love, the adoration and drunken silliness about Murphy was suddenly gone, reminding Connor once again that he might have his brother back, but not his soul, his spirit, their shared past. Murphy turned his back on him once again, to look for more stones, but Connor had enough. He dropped everything and followed his sibling, desperation growing inside him.

"I already said that I'm so fuckin sorry, Murph. What else do ye want me t'say? Or ta do? Just fuckin tell me because I want me fuckin brother back right the fuck now" he pleaded, surprised how emotional he suddenly got. He tried to reach out and place a hand on the younger MacManus' shoulder, but Murphy once again shrugged him off and turned around.

"Well maybe that ain't enough! Maybe I can't just fuckin forgive ye!" he yelled back and Connor stared at him, surprise and hurt showing in his eyes. The older of the two swallowed hard, feeling both helpless and defeated. Maybe this was really it now. Maybe god had damned it all along. The second he had pulled the trigger. Eternal punishment.

"All right" he said, voice nothing but a whisper, the bad voices in his head returning with such a force that they practically paralyzed him. He knew that he was supposed to fight for Murphy, to beg him for forgiveness, but right now he just couldn't, because deep deep down he kept telling himself that over and over again. For the past year, judging himself, blaming himself.   
  
He figured that maybe it was too soon and too foolish to believe Murphy was going to make it easy for him. Murphy had once been the little boy that had made him suffer by not talking to him for three days straight, just because he had stayed with a friend without him one night. Maybe this was just like this, their endless childhood brawls, just that this was a trillion times worse. Murphy was the only one to tell him when they were allowed to talk to each other again. And he was quite surprised when Murphy actually really did it.

Connor had turned his back on him by now, to get back to the tent, when Murphy suddenly yelled at him yet again.

"Why did you just leave me there?" he yelled as loud as he could, making Connor freeze on the spot and then turn around.  
Murphy was standing there, eyes wide, face red and chest heaving because he was so furious, so beside himself with rage and hurt.

"I was all on my own, bleeding ta fuckin death and you just left me there. And now yer asking me ta talk to you about random shit and pretend that didn' fuck happen? Stick yer 'sorry' up yer arse, I just wanna know why you'd do something like that!"

"Because I promised you!" Connor yelled back, voice even louder than his brother's.

Now he was breathing just as heavily, anger and frustration filling every fibre of his body.   
He came closer to Murphy, fully getting engaged in their fight.

"You was lying in my arms, right fucking here in my arms, and you made me fuckin promise that I was gonna shoot you and get out, go on without ye! I didn't wanna, but -you- forced me inta this, and it nearly fuckin killed me, Murph! I just did what yah asked me ta do!"

Murphy clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, trying his hardest not to start bawling or not to start punching Connor like a madman. He had a hard time remembering much about that day, what had been said and done, he only remembered the struggle, the trying to reach out for Connor and ask him to help him, only to face the muzzle of a gun.

"I was still alive when ye shot me! I was trying ta get t'ye, ta get ye ta help me! And you didn't see it!" he just yelled back, throat already aching because of the volume and intensity of his voice.

"I thought you was dead!" Connor just yelled back, and Murphy was actually surprised that his brother was the first to break the pathetic crying border.

It looked like his older sibling was trying really hard to keep it at bay, sniffing hard and clenching his fists even more, a weird mixture of anger and sadness flashing across his face. "We've both seen it before. How it works. We lost Eunice like tha. And the little girl. You'n I both -knew- that as soon as you get bit you die and turn into those fuckin…things" Connor said, this time quieter, voice croaky and hoarse from all the previous yelling.

"There was blood fuckin…fuckin _everywhere_ , and you was just staring at me saying 'Shoot me, Connor. I'm gonna turn, you gotta do it'. How was I supposed ta know that yer immune, Murph? _How_? I was sitting next ta you fer hours after that bite. Waiting, praying my lungs out but there was no fuckin answer, no miracle, no solution. Ye wouldn't look at me, answer me, or come back. I was all on my own, in this godfersaken room, with a promise I had ta fuckin keep. So I did it."

He looked at Murphy, longing for forgiveness and understanding, but his younger sibling just stood there, staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Do ye have any idea how hard tha was for me? It fuckin ripped me apart with ye, and I wanted nothing more than die right next ta you but you made me fuckin promise and I.." The older of the two let out a frustrated sigh and then wiped his running nose with an awkward and defeated sniff. "And I'm so fuckin sorry, I truly am, and punish me all ye want, but I thought you'd fuckin know me, Murph. We spent all our lives together. 36 years, and not once did I ever do anything t'hurt ye. I've done _everything_ ta keep ye safe until that day."

"How 'm I sapposed to know that when I can't remember a fucking thing?" Murphy snapped back and pointed at his head, the unmistakable scar. "I don't remember _anything_ because of this, Connor!"

Connor looked at his sibling in surprise, eyes fixed on the scar, swallowing hard.

"Ye don't remember anything" he said flatly, almost lifelessly.

"Ye don't remember us. Or me" he added, realization fully hitting him.

No wonder Murphy had changed that much. Of course it wasn't a miracle like he'd seen in all his countless movies, where people woke up from terrible injuries and traumas, completely healed, completely fine. But his own brother wasn't like that. The bullet hadn't just scarred his skin and destroyed their link and relationship. It had also destroyed Murphy's spirit. His soul, his memories, everything that had once shaped his personality. It really was -gone-. Because of the bullet he _had_ fired. He swallowed hard, trying not to lose his shit once again.

"Ma? Da?" he tried, but Murphy just looked troubled, frowning, and then just looking angry.  
Recognition didn't flash his eyes. There was nothing.

"Doc? Rocco? Rome? McGinty's? Ireland?"

Once again, nothing.

"Hannibal? Cheezo? You don't recognize any of those names? You really don't remember _anything_ at all?"

Murphy still looked angry, and shook his head, clenching his fists even tighter.   
But then he also looked disappointed and embarrassed.  
Connor swallowed yet again, at loss of words, not knowing what to do or how to fix this _.  
He'd screwed this up._

"Well" he said and then turned around to get back to the tent, because he couldn't do this anymore, couldn't see Murphy like that, who really just seemed to be nothing but an angry shell now. A shadow, a ghost, a trace of what had once been. Connor bit his lower lip hard until it almost bleed, trying hard to keep it together although he really wanted nothing more than bawl his eyes out like a baby.

That shit wasn't _fair_. Their reunion was supposed to be a happy thing. A miracle, the best moment in his life. Murphy wasn't dead. Hoo-fucking-ray. One year of longing for this very moment, one year of praying for it, begging for it. Except that it wasn't like how he'd pictured it. And it humilated him when he realized that part of him wished for the Murphy-hallucinations instead. Not the real one. The real one was just another form of torture in this fucked up world. The real Murphy was like a hot piece of iron, poking his old and healed mental wounds and ripping them wide open yet again. Only that this time it hurt about twice as much, and he wanted it to stop.

He knew that he needed to hear the truth, that he'd been begging for it after all, but it still tore him apart instead of putting him back together. _The truth hurts_ , Murphy had once told him, the very person who was standing behind him right now and -made- him hurt, no matter how much he deserved it.

"Rope" Murphy suddenly said, making Connor stop walking and thinking.

The older of the two slowly turned around, eyes still watery, lips still a harsh pale line, confusion slowly creeping its way across his face.

"What?"

Murphy just stood there, the anger suddenly vanished. He was shifting awkwardly from one foot to the next, chewing on his fingernails and looking at Connor with that silly look on his face, that almost made him look childish. It seemed like Murphy really wasn't sure if his answer was correct, but he still kept going.

"Think I remember that ye had this weird fuckin thing fer ropes" Murphy said quietly, not really knowing what he was supposed to do with this tiny bit of useless information anyway. Rope. What a silly thing to remember, really. But for some reason, he did remember that _one_ detail about Connor.

A weird sound escaped Connor's mouth and nose right then. It was meant to be a surprised snort, but it wasn't just that. It was also a sob that he couldn't hold back, and at the same time a gentle laugh. It was all at once which just made it sound weird, and the older of the two brothers had to wipe his nose once again. A couple of tears escaped his eyes but he was still chuckling, although it was a quiet and less heartfelt one.

"Aye" he said and took a deep breath, another useless attempt to stop the tears from flowing.

"Never know what yer gonna need it for" he went on, voice strained and Murphy nodded, looking down to the ground like a kid in school that had been caught cheating.

And suddenly Connor could see him again. This simple gesture, but it was unmistakable. This _was_ his brother in front of him. The kid that could be so awkward sometimes, but the kind of awkward that just made him even more adorable. Back in the old days he had spent years teasing Murphy about this, calling him a whiny shy cry baby with all his fits of rage but at the same time shyness, but deep deep down it had made Connor want to eat his twin alive, but not in a sick way like the walkers, certainly not literally, that was just the incredible adoration and protectiveness speaking.

"Can I hold ye, Murph?" he asked gently, sensing that this was pretty much his only chance to do it, now that the ice was getting thinner between them.

Murphy looked up at him right then and there, and it really hurt Connor to see that his twin actually looked a bit scared a terrified.  
One minute of just staring at each other, and then the younger of the two gave the tiny nod that his sibling had been longing for the whole time.

Connor crossed the distance between them like it was nothing and wrapped his arms tightly around his sibling, burying his face in his shoulder and then clutching to his shirt as if his life depended on it. He breathed him in, enjoying the scent that was still so familiar, despite the fact that they both obviously needed a shower and clean clothes. But none of that mattered, because Connor got to hold _Murphy_ , his sibling, his brother he had believed to be dead for so long now.

He breathed his scent in once more and then moved his face down Murphy's shoulder, making sure that he was alright there, that he was doing okay. It was a bit awkward, because the younger of the two was way too tense and didn't return the hug, but Connor didn't care. He started planting careful and then desperate kisses on his sibling's shoulder, right where the bite had happened a year ago, which made Murphy even more tense.   
  
But Connor wanted to make it alright, to make his twin heal, so he kept going, showering him in attention and affection, everything he hadn't been able to do ever since their parting. He rubbed Murphy's back and almost feared that he could rip his shirt apart, only to grab him by both his shoulders to put some distance between them, so he could look Murphy in the eye and then plant a gentle kiss on the large scar on his forehead as well.

Except that Murphy flinched yet again. He squeezed his eyes shut and almost ducked down, curling himself up a tiny bit and then turning away to get out of the embrace in a hurry. Connor stayed where he was, eyes widened in surprise and with concern.

"Murph?" he asked gently and instinctively tried to reach out. "Are ye…"

"Please don't do that again" Murphy mumbled and then suddenly walked away, back turned on Connor, walking a bit faster to get back to his stones.

Connor stayed where he was, almost still feeling his twin, not really knowing what he was supposed to feel in general. He was beyond happy that he'd gotten the chance to hold Murphy, to try to make it alright between them, but at the same time he was beyond worried and hurt because once again Murphy had decided to pull away, suggesting that they were still far away from doing fine.

But it was a start.

A tiny smile crossed the older MacManus face as he wiped his nose a final time. They had a -lot- of work to do, but he had made it through his worst nightmare. Talking about -that- day. Connor turned around to get back to the tent, to put it back together in time before Daryl returned and gave him shit for not working.

* * *

All three men were sitting around the campfire, awkward silence stretching out between them because no one really wanted to talk, or knew what to talk about anyway. Daryl and Murphy were still glaring at each other across the campfire, trying to stare each other down, and maybe even mentally fighting each other. The hate between them was obvious, radiating from the both of them like toxic green smoke.

Connor was sitting somewhat between them, poking around the fire, moving the burning wood and trying to come up with something he could say to make the whole thing less awkward -and most importantly- less violent. He was still rather excited because of all the things that had happened between him and Murphy just before sunset, but he was also worried and pissed because Daryl hadn't really talked to him ever since the incident on the highway.

"Ye should eat something, Murph" Connor said and tried to offer his twin his squirrel once more, because a) he hated Daryl's squirrels and thought they were disgusting and b) he really wanted Murphy to eat enough. The younger MacManus just huffed and shook his head, only to fix his eyes on his knife yet again, the one he was using to make the end of his stick sharper out of sheer boredom.

"Told ye, I ain't eating that shit" he said, and looked at Daryl, the man who had brought back the squirrels in the first place. He'd gone to get them _firewood_. That's what he had told Connor, but being the fucking redneck hillbilly he was, the guy obviously had to bring something _gross_ with him. Squirrels. No one in the world could force him to eat anything like that. So he just sat there and kept working, while Daryl continued to eat one of their roasted squirrels, not minding it at all.

Connor sighed and rubbed his thighs because it was getting cold and because the whole thing made him feel even more awkward.  
It was so dark by now that they could hardly see a thing, and he supposed that it was pretty late now anyway.

"Cold, isn't it then?" he muttered and looked at both Daryl and Murphy, trying to keep the conversation going, but once again both men just rewarded him with an angry glare. Daryl offered him his poncho about a minute later, which caught Connor completely off guard. The Irishman took it reluctantly and looked at his friend, appreciating the gesture, but just like the many times before Daryl pretended that he didn't exist, simply because he had lowered himself to doing something good for him.

"Maybe the both of ye should go get some sleep? I can do the first watch shift" he suggested and looked at Daryl and then Murphy.

Connor sported Daryl's poncho to emphasize this last statement, that he was ready for a shift out in the open and cold.   
His friend just snorted.

"No way?"

"There's no way 'm sleepin next to a stinkin fuckin redneck" Murphy said at the same time, which made Daryl glare at him. Connor had only split seconds to decide and stop the two of them from getting into yet another fight, and that was giving him a hard time. He didn't know who he should chose without making the other feel less important.

His first instincts told him to send Murphy to bed. To keep him safe and let him rest so that he would feel okay the next day. It certainly would do him and Daryl some good, because this way they could be alone. But he didn't like that option because he wanted to be with _Murphy_ , wanted to talk to Murphy. Which made the whole thing even more awkward. Because he knew that if he sent Daryl to sleep his friend would take it the wrong way, think that he wanted him out of the way and not with him. Which was not true, but he knew how Daryl ticked and knew that his friend was going to think -exactly- that.

He took a deep breath and decided against his wishes, turning his head to look at Murphy.

"Alright, then you go to bed Murph. 's been a tough day. Ye should rest" he muttered and Murphy raised an eyebrow with a gentle snort.

" _Yer_ the one who screwed my day up" he reminded his brother with an angry frown and then shook his head.

"I ain't going ta bed. 'm fine. Besides, 'm old enough ta fuckin decide what I wanna do, without you having ta tell me what ta fuckin do all the time, just so ye can be alone with yer fuckin redneck" he said stubbornly and then took his pointy stick to poke around the fire angrily. Connor let out a defeated sigh, not really wanting to go full on big brother on Murphy yet. He knew what ever he was going to say or do now would backfire and make Murphy remind him what _exactly_ he had screwed up, and why he didn't have the fucking right to tell him anything. Connor turned his head and then looked at Daryl, who had been watching him the whole time anyway with a slight frown.

"Daryl?" he just said quietly, which made his friend snort as well.

Connor rolled his eyes, at loss what he was supposed to say or do with these two freaking _pigheads_ around him.  
Part of him wanted to grab them both and kick their asses into the tent and then _sew_ the thing closed, but he decided not to do anything like that right now.

Maybe later. When he didn't feel so tired and emotionally drained.  
Connor moved his healthy hand through his messy hair and then closed his eyes for a second, to give them some rest and calm down.

"Maybe you gotta go instead" he heard Daryl say and opened his eyes again to look at his friend.

"You ain't doin so hot. And yah haven't slept in what now? Two days? Three days?" the hunter muttered and then finished his squirrel so he could wipe his hands on his thighs. "Go crash, ain't no way 'm carrying you around tomorrow just cos you don't even know what day it is anymore. Gotta be able to watch your own ass, leprechaun."

Connor and snorted gently while he looked at his friend and brother with an affectionate smirk.

"What, and leave ye two alone out here the whole night? Five minutes in tha tent, and you'd be at each other's throats, ready ta bash yer thick skulls in without me watching over ye."

Murphy huffed yet again.

"Like t'see 'im try" he muttered and Daryl raised an eyebrow.

"You say something, emo kid?" he asked across the fire, which made Murphy glare at him.

"Stop fuckin callin me emo kid. 'm no fuckin emo ye redneck piece 'a fuckin trash."

"Alright, calm down the two of ye.." Connor muttered, once again at complete loss and getting way too overwhelmed by Murphy and Daryl's behaviour.

"The _piece of trash_ that made this fire and brought yah food, how bout you get off your high horse you little…"

"Daryl!" Connor shouted, louder this time, since he knew that he'd be ignored otherwise. Murphy wouldn't listen to him yet and he didn't want to make things worse with his sibling again, so he counted on his friend here. He even dug his fingers in Daryl's thigh, looking at him intently and then almost pleading him.

"Just leave it be and go rest, aye? 's been a tough day fer all of us and yer right, we gotta be fit fer tomorrow. At least someone. We can't be sitting here on our asses all night and not catch some sleep, and since Murphy won't go and I can't let ye two be on yer own without having ta fear ye murder each other just…" he took a deep breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Just.. do this fer me?" he pleaded and Daryl just glared at him.

The hunter could see how exhausted his friend really was, that he was way too tired to be his usual loud and demanding, annoying self. Now he actually really was just pleading him, asking him to do this for him. Daryl gritted his teeth and wanted nothing more than keep fighting with Murphy, to let go of his never ending anger and frustration he felt ever since Merle's death, that had only doubled with the younger MacManus' return. He didn't want to get cast aside like that, shoved into a tent to keep quiet so these two stupid Irishmen could stay together and celebrate their happy family reunion, but there wasn't much he could do about it.

He didn't like seeing Connor like that, and he knew that his friend had a point. There was no way he and Murphy could stay together in any way. Whether it was the tent or outside. Since the stupid kid was too stubborn to just fuck off and leave for the tent instead it -had- to be him. -He- had to give in and act all adult about the situation. He sighed and threw the rest of his squirrel in the fire, giving Murphy yet another angry glare while doing so.

"Fine, have fun with your sister. 's obviously shark week over there" he said to Connor and got up, getting the reaction he had aimed for.

"Fuck ye!" Murphy roared and tried to swing a punch at him across the fire, but Connor held him back.

"Just let it go, Murph!" Connor protested and Daryl ignored the both of them.

So much for Murphy, the saint. The precious little brother Connor had missed so much and wouldn't stop talking about. He'd pictured him to be different, according to Connor's endless talk. But the guy was far from being a saint. Murphy seemed to be the little bratty brother no one ever wanted to have. And now that he thought about it, maybe he was glad that he could go catch some sleep and stop seeing the stupid little asshole.

He soon disappeared inside the tent, leaving the MacManus brothers to whatever they were up to, and deep deep down he felt jealous yet again.

* * *

He could hear them talk outside, for a while. Most of the time it was Connor talking about the most random shit, voice lowered and gentle like he'd never really heard him talk before. He tried really hard not to listen because it was stupid and not nice, but for some reason he couldn't stop.

Almost twelve months of being with the Irishman. Nonstop. Hardly ever apart, knowing everything about him and talking to him the most. He'd even known about all the conversations and relationships Connor'd had with the other members of the group because he had always shared them with him. He knew how the Irishman was around Rick. Or Carol. Or Carl and little asskicker. He knew practically everything about the guy by now. His habits, his preferences, what and who he liked and hated.

But this was new. Although Connor had told him almost everything about Murphy there were many things he still didn't know about them, because knowing this was absolutely impossible. There was something more going on between the two of them, something they wouldn't share and from which they excluded him. That speech pattern, that sound of his voice and those special looks were reserved for Murphy and Murphy only, but Daryl still wanted to hear it, see it.

Maybe it was voyeuristic. Maybe it was impolite and forbidden, but he didn't care. Jealousy made people do crazy things, and this certainly was one of those. He wasn't just jealous of Murphy, of all the things he got from Connor. He was also jealous of the twins relationship in general, always had been, and now he was experiencing it first hand.

Merle had loved him, without question. But their family had never been about this sort affection. Countless years Merle and his father had spent telling him that affection and tenderness was pussy bullshit, that it wasn't manly and simply pathetic. But now that he could see it, and hear it, he had to admit that it actually was the toughest thing he'd ever seen. He knew that it took a lot not to care what certain deeds of affection looked like to others, especially when you're a man.

His family had told him that this was weak, but he now thought it as a character trait he really envied. To overcome your 'manliness' and not give a shit because someone simply matters way more than what society or other people thought about you. Which led him to the only possible conclusion. Merle and his father had never talked to him like that, showed affection around him because they hadn't -loved- him _enough_ to _not_ care about how silly they looked while doing that.

Complicated shit that was giving him a headache, so he turned his back on where the campfire was and tried to ignore it. Just his luck. Now he didn't have one but _two_ headshrinkers around, who would turn him into a sissy. Oh how he wanted Merle to be here right now. Not to talk to him like Connor was talking to Murphy. No, he needed his brother here to remind him that he still had a freaking pair of balls attached to him. Daryl let out an angry growl, remembering Merle's countless mocking phrases, trying to remember the Dixon way, not the MacManus way, and maybe he reached between his legs just to make sure.

Nope.

Definitely not a jealous pussy because of these two damn leprechauns out there.

Daryl shook his head and closed his eyes, slowly drifting off to sleep. The talking outside stopped after a while, when he was already close to falling asleep. He was starting to daydream and almost-dream, slowly forgetting about his anger and worries when the zipper of the tent suddenly opened, forcing him to wake up with a start and grab his knife. He relaxed a bit when it wasn't a walker or even worse, Murphy. It was just Connor, slowly creeping inside the tent and then crashing down next to him.

Daryl tried to keep his back turned on his friend, but couldn't. He was too curious and confused by what was going on.

_Why the hell would the guy even come in here and stay with him when his stupid brother was right out there?_

As if Connor could read his mind the Irishman suddenly started talking.

"He said he's gonna walk around the camp. Keep his eyes out on danger" he muttered, sounding both tired but also upset.

Daryl didn't want to talk, not about Murphy or any of this feelings bullshit, but he was way too curious.  
He would turn his head first, every now and then, only to give in and turn on his back completely, so he could give Connor a confused frown.

"And yah let 'im?" he asked in disbelief, because that didn't sound like the Connor he knew. Not at all.

"I was trying ta help him fer a while, but…he didn't want me to. He promised he'd be careful and that he wouldn't run away" Connor mumbled and then turned on his back as well, staring at the ceiling with sad, tired eyes.

The truth was less nice. Murphy had made it _very_ clear that he was old enough to do shit on his own. Once again. This Murphy wasn't like his brother at all, the one he'd known all his life. The old Murphy had let him boss him around, plan shit, tell him what to do and he'd been completely fine with it. Almost eager, even. This new Murphy wanted to execute his own plans, live by his own rules. _Without_ him.

But despite everything Connor still trusted his twin and knew him. Maybe he feared it a bit, that Murphy could run away from him and hide somewhere, maybe get back to Savannah, but his sibling had -promised- he wouldn't do that. And they had always kept their promises no matter what, no matter how much they hated them or how much they hurt. And there was a big bonus to it.   
  
Connor knew that Murphy couldn't find shit on his own. Whether it was in a city or a forest. His twin had some sort of a sense of direction, but certainly not a good one. He -would- get lost out there on his own, and he knew that Murphy knew this as well. His twin didn't have anything. No car, not much ammo, no supplies, no water, no protection. He -needed- to stay with them no matter what.

So Connor had finally allowed himself to go to sleep.

Although he doubted he was going to get any. He stared at the closed zipper, the closed opening of the tent where he could still see the flames of the abandoned campfire, knowing that Murphy wasn't sitting there but wasn't too far away either.

"He's always been like tha. Couldn't sit still fer shit. He needs ta move. Maybe it's a good thing. He can keep his eyes on a greater area around te camp. And make himself tired so he can go ta sleep later once I'm done with my nap" Connor muttered, not really talking to Daryl but talking to himself, to assure himself that everything was fine, just so he didn't have to get worried sick.

And now that he was lying here, thinking about Murphy walking around their camp it suddenly hit him. Now his brother wasn't just back. With him came all the side effects. His dominant brother instincts. And most importantly - the constant fear of losing Murphy to some freak accident. The fear of really losing Murphy this time. For a second time. It made his guts twist in protest.

Daryl just lay next to his friend, watching him for a while, not really knowing which feeling was more dominant right now. He was more than annoyed that Connor still wouldn't shut up about the guy he hated the most right now, but at the same time he was actually glad and happy that his friend was still with him. Right next to him, just the two of them like back 'in the old times'. When it had just been the two of them.

He was just about to decide that he was more happy than annoyed when Connor started talking about Murphy yet _again._

"He doesn't wanna talk ta me" the Irishman admitted, and Daryl tried his hardest not to roll his eyes. The hunter shifted a bit and wouldn't look at his friend anymore. Oh how much he hated himself right now for offering Connor his help once, back on the farm, when he had _asked_ him to talk about his past or what was bugging him. Ever since then the Irishman just wouldn't shut up about it, spamming him with is feelings like the mailbox of a teen magazine.

"Well, he does say something just….short answers. 'm usually the only one talking when we're together" Connor muttered and Daryl snorted, no matter how much he had tried to keep it in.

Oh yeah, if there was someone talking all the time, then it certainly was Connor.

"He doesn't want me t'touch 'im either" the Irishman went on, and that send Daryl over the edge.

"So what, yah gotta get in here and use me as damn substitute yet again? Sorry, leprechaun, but I ain't your freakin puppet" he growled and maybe he was a bit too enthusiastic about his response, because he sounded way too angry and mean. Connor looked at him in surprise, quite taken aback by the harsh response.

"Why are ye so fuckin peeved?"

"I'm just getting sick and tired of all y'all yapping every godamn night. Yah got your stupid bro back, can't you just shut up about the freaking kid for once and let me sleep? I ain't interested in your whiny feelings about your bro, I couldn't care less!" he snapped, finally losing his cool and stopping all the respecting the intense situation his friend found himself in.

"Fuck you! Yer the one who asked my why I let him keep watch!" Connor snapped back and then shoved Daryl hard. "And maybe I _am_ annoying with the whole Murph thing, but yer fuckin annoying with this whole jealousy bullshit of yers!"

"I ain't jealous of this freak!" Daryl snapped back and this time it were the two of them who got involved in yet another fight, although it was a rather lazy and not really violent one. Both men were too tired and exhausted to really fight, so they just rolled around the tent, trying to somehow dominate each other with lazy kicks. Sometimes Connor was on top, sometimes Daryl, and it didn't take long until the vibe changed.

No matter how fucked up it was, both men soon realized that they had both missed this for the past couple of hours ever since Murphy's return. The fighting with each other, the trying to rip each other apart somehow, but also the being close to each other, the being alone with each other without Murphy in the picture. Angry glares soon turned into heated ones that were still angry, just a different kind of angry.

They were in the middle of a particularly nasty scuffle with loads of kicking and kneeing each other in the rips and belly when Connor was the first to break the barrier yet again, somehow capturing Daryl's mouth with his and then not letting go. A new bad habit which neither could really break. Although Daryl eventually gave in and returned the favour they still couldn't stop fighting each other, an occasional kick and grunt interrupting their eager kissing and biting.

Daryl was still on top of Connor, fingers buried in his shirt from the fight. The Irishman certainly didn't like the position he found himself in because he was used to being in charge, but at the same time he knew that any sort of struggle would be useless. Daryl _needed_ to be in charge. No matter what. Or else he would freak out yet again, reminded of his terrible past or god knows what kind of shit made him do that, so Connor reluctantly gave in.

Despite everything that was going on between them right now Daryl still didn't know what he was supposed to feel. He was still angry from the fight. That was true. And he really wanted to keep it going, punch and kick his friend a bit more, yell some more, just to channel his inner pissed asshole. But at the same time he obviously wanted to keep doing this. No matter how awkward it was, no matter how much it actually freaked him out and scared him.

He still didn't want to be like this, didn't want to disappoint and dishonour his family, even worse, screw up his own manliness and the only real friendship he'd ever had in his entire life. But right now far more simple needs of the carnal nature were making themselves known, more and more with each day he spent surrounded by couples, lovers and other relationships between two people whereas he was all alone, without a real family, without a relationship, almost his entire life.

Most of the time he didn't even mind. But then there were days when he was just so angry, so furious and mad, that the anger and wrath turned into actual unchanneled sexual frustration, that he needed to get rid of. Maybe it was just another form of sick violence which certainly meant nothing but pain and physical stress, he didn't care, he didn't want to care, he just gave in to it. He grabbed his friend even tighter, not really leaving him a chance to back off now. He still wasn't sure what it was going to be, a continuation of their fight, maybe another kick or knee in his friend's guts, but then his mind settled on something else.

An abrupt and far less elegant thrust of his hip.

The sloppy kiss stopped and Connor looked at him, rather surprised by this action, actually. Daryl just looked at his friend for a second, trying his hardest not to feel embarrassed by it like a teenager. Although he _did_ feel like some pathetic hormonal teenager right now. He buried his face in his friend's jacket instead, clinging to him tighter and even fisting his hair, grabbing and pulling it way harder than necessary. Another abrupt thrust of his hip against his friend's thigh, and this time it made him gasp rather awkwardly.

It certainly wasn't his first time, but he was far from having much experience. There had only ever been one girl in his life so far, and the whole thing with her had been awkward, far from enjoyable, far too quick and rough. It still had been the proper deal back then, all naked and sweaty, much in contrast to what was happening now. Because now it was freezing and they both were still wearing and their clothes, and Daryl wouldn't have it any other way. Anything else would be too weird, too freaky, maybe even disgusting, he didn't really know about that one.

It was weird anyway, because this was _Connor_ , but if he was honest he didn't even really care anymore. It wasn't like there were hundreds of chicks running around them, with the world gone to shit and all. And even if there were, it wasn't like he'd ever get it on with any of them. No, he was way too awkward, way too damaged for that shit.   
  
Although it -needed- to happen. The violence had been some sick alteration of what he could call foreplay. Endless teasing, the endless calling each other names, looking for a reaction, demanding action. He was a man after all. He -needed- to respond to it, get his point across. But still. That sort of thing needed loads of trust, and even with that it was hardly ever going to happen.

The best example would be Carol there, the one woman in his life that he really liked, that he considered a friend, that he wanted to protect and keep around. Even with all this trust and 'special bond' going on between them, even with the whole 'abused by their own family' thing he'd never been able to pick Carol for this. It still wouldn't been too awkward, too scary. And he also didn't want to hurt her. Not hurt a single hair on her head. Or any other woman's head.

But with Connor it was different. For the first time in his life. He couldn't quite put a finger on it, why it had to be his best friend that he chose to 'let go' with. There was more than enough trust and dependency going on between them to make it possible, even more than with Carol. But just that wouldn't have been enough to push him across that invisible edge.   
  
No, it was the fact that at the same time he really -didn't- care about Connor in that regard, literally didn't care sometimes if he hurt him or whatever. A small part inside of him still _wanted_ to do it, even after all this time, ever since their 'farm days', to keep his balls like Merle had liked to call it. And it was that exact longing for physical male dominance that made him do it, that longing for skin to skin contact, whether it was with his fists or something entirely different.

So he just did it, trying to no longer ponder on that, to just blend everything out, even Connor himself. He just kept going, his body telling him what to do with each abrupt thrust. The Irishman underneath him seemed to struggle just as much with his thoughts, sometimes trying to push him away but at the same time grabbing him and pulling him closer. It was when Daryl slowly got brave enough and found a steady rhythm when Connor finally knew how to freaking talk again.

"Fuck, Murph's outside fer fuck's sake" he muttered, somewhat being a half-whisper, half-grunt.

Daryl shifted a bit to get a better hold on his friend but still wouldn't look at him, because eye contact was an absolute no go right now. Just like the whole kissing bullshit. That would be way too much, his brain practically yelling all sorts of variations of the word 'nope'. He didn't really want to answer, although he knew that he had to.

"Shut up then and stop being such a fuckin pussy about it" the hunter grunted and kept going, actually a bit offended by the rude interruption and the mention of the name 'Murphy'. He figured this was their only real chance to do this, the kid outside or not, because soon enough Connor and Murphy would get closer again, they would get back to Woodbury, and there was absolutely no way or opportunity he'd ever have the balls to do _this_ again. It was already happening, already a work in progress, so he needed to keep going.

"Well someone's gotta be the pussy t'do this shit" Connor answered and tried to get control of the situation, to finally be the man of the two, be stronger, be in charge, because anything else was just wrong and unacceptable.

"And we both know that _yer_ the fuckin pussy here. All ye need's some fuckin tits" he kept going, trying really hard to flip them over, but it was useless. Daryl had him pinned, he couldn't move his arms at all. All he could do was move his legs, maybe wrap them around Daryl and use them as leverage, but this would be too awkward right now, and frankly, too freaking gay, so he just struggled and wriggled around.

"Who's the one…fuckin crying and mopin about his stupid feelings the whole time" the hunter answered, which made Connor chuckle awkwardly.

Of course they had to keep teasing each other and call each other names, even when they were doing something like this. It wasn't quite fucking around yet, but they had practically broken that barrier anyway now. Like Daryl he struggled just as much, head spinning with far too many thoughts, but also emotions. In this very moment he really needed the physical contact, wanted it, everything he could get.   
  
Not just because it had been far too long and no matter how religious he really was, he was a man and his body -did- have needs, but he also because Murphy still wouldn't let him near him. But Murphy was exactly the point here though, once again, why this was wrong, why Daryl needed to freaking _stop_ , why his mind was stronger than his body in this regard.

Daryl had Murphy's face. And that was fucked up. Lying with a man was embarrassing enough, a sin even, but lying with a man that had his brother's face was more than a sin, it was a freaking _atrocity_. Religion and morality were screaming 'no' at him, every single one of his tattoos making itself known with a strange stinging and pounding. He even started praying for forgiveness, that he kept fucking everything up these days, all the rules, his job, his own moral compass, but he knew that his praying was useless.

The world was fucked anyway. And god had tortured him enough for a life time. He deserved some peace.

And even if he _did_ want the whole thing to stop, it wasn't like he had a real choice here, and that was slightly terrifying and a whole lot embarrassing. It wasn't just enough that he had to be the one on the receiving end _, like a freaking girl_ , he also didn't get a freaking choice. Daryl held him way too tight, pinned even, and although Connor usually -was- able to fight him most of the time, he actually wasn't able to do so right now.   
  
He was too tired, too exhausted, too hungry and too emotionally affected by the whole Murphy thing to really put up a fight. And that was a bit sobering, actually. So he did the only thing he really could do in his position, stop it with the teasing, and try to calm his friend down, turn the whole thing into something less angry and violent because no matter what, he actually still wanted it to keep going. Just not like this.

Daryl couldn't really stop thrusting anymore either, now that he was past the point where he cared about anything, his friend, the whole 'not gay' thing, his family, even the potential 'noise' they were making. They were far from the whole porny shit Merle had loved to watch back in the old days, volume turned up to the max and not really caring about him next door, back when he'd just been about 8 years old. Or 9, or whatever, he didn't know anymore.   
  
Fact was that there was nothing porny about the whole thing, nothing sexy or romantic, it was just _happening_. Far less exciting than he had pictured, and typically sloppy, animalistic and inelegant like only two men could achieve to do. There was a part of him that wanted it to sound and be like Merle's porn shit, make the ever so 'precious' and 'important' Murphy hear it outside, just so he could torture him some more and make his blood boil.

But both he and Connor kept awkwardly quiet. And there were even more details to the whole thing that made it different to anything he'd ever seen or heard of. The most important thing - Connor obviously -wasn't- a woman, no matter how hard he tried to imagine it. And since there was no woman underneath him there was no softness, no tenderness. There was no real touch going on. And no real need to be careful and considerate.

And although they wouldn't really speak it out, _Daryl_ was actually the one setting up rules like that with simple gestures. No lip contact. No real skin contact, no real touch, just the simple, mechanical and animalistic deed. Connor would certainly try every now and then, slow him down, turn it into a mutual thing like he was obviously used to from previous encounters with women, but Daryl just wouldn't have any of that. He would flinch, he would tense, struggle and fight his friend off, keep him at bay, pinned, and unable to keep doing any of that, unable to turn it into something affectionate.

It wasn't like he needed it right now, he was close anyway.

Just like back then with that one girl it was too soon, too fast, but once again he forced himself not to care. It was just about him, he tried to keep telling himself, that this was all he could do anyway. Maybe that could come across as rapey, maybe it was, but there was nothing he could do about it. And this part was the honest truth, actually. He didn't _want_ to be selfish about it, but mutuality would _mean_ tenderness, letting people close to him, to his body, to let other people take control over him, let them feel and touch and explore whatever _they_ wanted and this was still a no go. Not after everything his pathetic sick father had done to him.

And the worst part about it was that he knew that he was practically repeating that now. He'd always known that he was going to be like that, act like that, demanding, receiving, but not giving, which had been exactly the reason why he had never gotten close to women. He didn't want to turn into his dad. He didn't want to be selfish, or hurt anyone. But no matter what he did, his friend brought out just that.

He was really close, filled with both sexual desperation but at the same time frustration because it wasn't really working when their day took a downturn. Minutes of completely forgetting that they were no longer by themselves, on the run, away from a group, a city or walkers. Minutes of thinking they were alone in a fucked up world, surrounded by death and blood thirsty monsters but no one to judge him, until realization snapped him out of it and making him stop.

Footsteps.

Very close to the tent.

Then a gentle cough.

Just as abruptly as the whole thing had started, Daryl let go off his friend and almost jumped off of him with what felt the speed of light.  
When he turned around he could see the silhouette by the campfire, with the person warming their hands above it and then coughing again.

Murphy.

Just like freaking always.

Getting between them, screwing everything up, making the anger and frustration even worse.  
Daryl shifted, still rather fast, pretty eager to get out of the tent.

"Hey, where you fuckin going?" Connor asked, still way too surprised and confused by -everything- that had happened between them and led up to this very moment.

For a second even Daryl really didn't know where he wanted to go, whether he wanted to go out and punch Murphy in the face for being so goddamn annoying, or if he just needed to get away from the awkward shit he'd been doing just less than a minute ago. He came up with the answer which would be helpful during both options: get out and just away from the both of them.

Cool off, think, calm down.

"Gotta take a piss" he just grunted and then left the tent as fast a he could, not even giving Murphy a second glance because he could face absolutely -no one- right now.


	27. Aftermath

Murphy was walking around the surrounding area for a while, not really sure what he was supposed to do. He was still angry, still hurt, still pissed at Connor but at the same time just upset. There was a part of him that was practically urging him to run away again, back to Savannah, back to Vernon and his group. It could be so easy. Both Connor and his stupid redneck friend weren't outside, there was no one to keep him from leaving. He could just turn his back on them, walk away, and not think about the whole drama ever again.

But the other part, the one that was way larger, kept bugging him, telling him that this was wrong. He couldn't leave the two of them here, sleeping, without any sort of protection. And then there was the more obvious reason why he couldn't just do that. Connor was his _brother_. Months of being with different groups, different people, had taught him how much he wanted to make it through this shit with his family. Not strangers. And Connor was his only family left.

The younger MacManus kept walking circles all around the campfire, slowly heading back now, because his mind was all set. He was still way too confused, but the anger turned more and more into sheer sorrow. He remembered the look on Connor's face earlier, when they had talked about _that_ day. He'd honestly looked like he was so sorry, that he was utterly upset because of everything that had happened to him. And his brother had been really shocked to hear the ugly truth about his memory loss.

Murphy really wanted to remember Connor. Trust him and believe everything he had told him, because this would make it so much easier for them. There would be no need to feel heartbroken, no need to be scared or upset. He -wanted- to believe Connor that he hadn't been selfish that day, that he hadn't done it on purpose. Murphy seriously didn't want to feel betrayed anymore, but this was hard when he couldn't actually remember the truth.

Maybe they just needed to work this out.

The younger MacManus scratched his forehead, gently feeling the scar there, rubbing it and pulling a face.  
It still hurt, but at least he felt a -tiny- bit better about it.

He made his way back to the campfire and sat down, clearing his throat and then warming his hands there. He would look up every now and then, staring at the tent where Connor and the other guy slept. It made him frown a bit, actually. It was weird knowing that his brother was in there with a guy he didn't know himself, a guy he hated in fact. He couldn't remember much but his guts told him that he'd never experienced anything like that, like he'd always known every single of Connor's friends. Maybe he was jealous?

_No.  
Why would he be jealous anyway._

He was supposed to be angry with Connor, keep blaming him and everything, although the truth was different. Now that he had his brother back, and now that the memory loss was plaguing him he wanted to be in there instead of this Daryl guy. _He_ was supposed to be with his brother, and he really longed for that connection now.And Connor was right there, but with some other asshole. He wanted to get to know him, get close to him again, but he supposed that he'd fucked it up.

The crack of a branch made Murphy turn around. The Irishman just sat there for a moment, eyes scanning the surrounding woods with a frown. He couldn't see or hear anything, but that didn't mean that it made him any less paranoid. He didn't really get to keep watching, because right then he heard the zipper of the tent. The younger MacManus turned his head, really hoping that Connor would come out there and keep 'bugging' him, although he really didn't mind it anymore.

His face fell when he saw that it was actually Daryl who was almost storming out of the tent, face flushed, looking incredibly angry and excited. Before Murphy could even say something the redneck already disappeared behind the tent, leaving it open. Murphy waited a bit longer, hoping that maybe Connor would come out as well and explain what the hell was going on, but it soon became very clear that his brother wasn't going to show up.

The younger twin chewed on his lower lip and looked around the camp for a while, contemplating what he should do. He really wanted to be with Connor, with someone in general, but he didn't just want to give up is act from one second to the next. He'd been with them for less than 24 hours now, and one big talk about the whole incident wasn't supposed to mean that everything was okay again. Which it still wasn't, it was just….Murphy sighed and shook his head as he moved his right hand through his ravenblack hair.

No.

Too soon.

Another crack of a branch made him turn around once again, but just like before he couldn't see anything.

* * *

Connor stared at the ceiling of the tent, still a bit out of breath, chest heaving, heart pounding. He had quite some trouble wrapping his head around whatever the fuck had happened just a minute ago. One second everything had been too intense, too hot, too tight, too close, one second of not being able to breathe or do anything, and the next everything was over. He raised his head a bit and tried to look out of the tent, but the flap was hanging down and denying him the view. He couldn't see Daryl, but he'd heard him walk past the tent and disappear somewhere behind it.

He'd told him that he needed to take a piss.

Right.

As fucking if.

The Irishman looked at the ceiling again and swallowed hard, trying to calm down and cool off. Saying that he felt awkward would be the understatement of the century. Simply because there were so many things to feel awkward about. One was the obvious - that Daryl had left from one second to the next, leaving him here in this state. Clothes, hair, body and mind a complete mess, with a trillion questions in his head but no real answer to any of those. The other reason why he felt awkward was also obvious - the sheer act itself was pretty unbelievable, in a not so positive way.

Connor rubbed his face and tried not to think about it, not to name it, but no matter what he did, it always popped up in his head. Daryl and he were very good friends. After everything they had been through, it was something that went without saying. But both he and the hunter had somehow managed to spiral down some very weird path. First the kissing shit, and now… The Irishman swallowed yet again and tried to shake it off.

Nope.

He wasn't going to name it. It had been a fight.

Nothing more.

He grabbed his rosary and closed his eyes, ready to pray, ask god for forgiveness, for absolution. He wasn't like this. It was a serious sin. He knew that his parents would probably kill him for this crap. He'd been raised like this after all. And it still applied. Everything. He really wasn't into guys or any of this bullshit. Just thinking about it made him want to throw up. And until now, he'd always blamed his and Daryl's closeness on Murphy's absence. It was true, he really liked Daryl as a friend, but even he had to admit that everything had -always- been about Murphy. That he'd lost him, wanted to hold him, wanted him back.

But now Murphy was back, and everything was still the same.   
The closeness with Daryl was getting stronger and stronger.  
Instead of just subsiding. It was a freaking curse.

"Fergive me father, for I have sinned" he started to mumble, grabbing the rosary tighter, repeating his prayers over and over again until he was just too tired to keep going, too tired to keep thinking about it. For days he had been fighting this, the tiredness, but now he finally gave in to it because it was the only solution. Fall asleep just so he could stop thinking about it. Daryl wouldn't return anymore, maybe he just needed as much space, and maybe it was a good thing. Connor finally let go of his rosary, turning on his side and then slowly drifting off to sleep, pretending that nothing had happened anyway.

* * *

More than fifteen minutes must've had passed, but Daryl was still nowhere in sight. Murphy frowned and looked around the camp, trying to make out the hunter somewhere, but he was nowhere to be seen. The younger MacManus twin wanted to cheer at first, happy because the guy he hated the most right now was gone, but something about it felt weird, so he didn't really get the chance to celebrate. He looked back at the tent, where Connor was, and wondered what had happened between the two to make Daryl storm away like that.

It wasn't like he knew enough about them. Which was kind of weird, now that he thought about it.  
He hated his memory loss, hated that he couldn't remember shit about his _own brother_.  
Connor felt like a stranger to him now, but despite all the hate and pain he still wanted to get to know him again.

Murphy nibbled on one of the squirrels for a while (now that no one was watching and because he -was- hungry as hell) and considered what he should do. Daryl just wouldn't come back and the flap of the tent was blowing in the wind, inviting him to step closer, to walk over to Connor. He really wanted to stay stubborn. Be on his own and punish his brother. But there was a part of his brain, buried deep inside and dead until now, that kept calling him. Longing for a connection, for the missing puzzle piece. Whispering to him, and calling calling calling.

Murphy let out a gentle sigh and threw the remains of the squirrel into the fire, only to start walking, heading for the tent. He got more and more determined with each step, but at the same time his head pounded more and more. He knew that the pain wasn't -really- there. It had to be some weird kind of reaction triggered by the trauma, but just for a moment he did not care. He kept walking until he could kneel in front of the tent, ready to crawl inside but hesitant yet again. He chewed on his lower lip and stared at the fabric for a while, really wanting to leave but at the same time really wanting to enter, too.

He couldn't really hear anything coming from inside, so he had no idea if Connor was asleep. He then remembered how Daryl had just left like that, looking angry and aggressive, and this was reason enough for him to worry. _What if the guy had done something to his brother?_ He didn't want to care but did anyway, so he finally moved the flap away and then entered the tent.

Connor was just lying there, on his side, eyes closed and chest slowly rising and falling. People tended to look peaceful when they slept, but his brother was far from that. His brows were furrowed and he looked incredibly exhausted, and this made Murphy feel sorry. Truth was, he had no real idea what was going on inside his brother's head, what he had been through during the past year to make him look like that, but he knew that he was certainly adding up to that whole business.

Murphy sat down for a moment, by the door and just watched his brother sleep, really wanting to say or do anything but not really knowing what that was supposed to be. Even now he still felt the heartache, the pain and the fear deep in his bones. Simply because Connor had pulled the trigger a year ago.

_I thought you'd fuckin know me, Murph. We spent all our lives together.  
36 years, and not once did I ever do anything t'hurt ye.   
I've done _ _everything_ _ta keep ye safe until that day._

He honestly couldn't remember any of it. He really wanted to, make everything alright between them. He'd always been impatient, which was why he actually considered waking Connor up just so they could talk about it right away. He had so many questions, so much to say, and he just knew that it was going to be hard to do that with the freaking redneck between them all the time. He reached out, ready to grab his brother's shoulder and shake him awake, only to hesitate and then move his hand further down.

Murphy grabbed the poncho (really, how ugly was that thing? Only freaking rednecks could wear shit like this) Daryl had given his brother and then pulled it up, to cover Connor's hips, belly and shoulders. His brother would stir a bit but didn't wake up, and this put a tiny smile on Murphy's face. He rested his hand on his sibling's arm for a while and stroke it with his thumb, and no matter how hard he tried to deny it - it felt good. Like medicine. Like two puzzle pieces that fit together, clicking right in and sticking together.

The hug they'd shared just a couple of hours ago had been different. The touch had scared him a bit, simply because Connor had attacked him far too abruptly, invaded his personal space without giving him a chance to control it. But he was in control now, he was the one doing what he wanted and initiating the contact, which was definitely a good thing.

He turned his head to look outside, listening up so he could check if Daryl was there yet. He frowned yet again when he couldn't hear a single thing, but decided that this was his chance to do this. The stupid redneck wasn't there to disturb their family moment, Connor wasn't awake to ask too much of him, so he gently shifted until he was sitting right next to his brother, lying down next to him until they were face to face. Murphy tugged both his hands underneath his cheek and just looked at his brother, studying each tiny detail of his sleepy face.

Ever since Simmons had told him about him he had tried to remember that man, the person who had haunted him in his sleep. His face had been a blurry vision the whole time, distorted by his poor abused brain cells, the healthy part of his mind trying to simply imagine the missing information, the missing pieces. His day- and night-dream Connor had looked a bit different because of that, but it was undeniable. This was his brother in front of him, without a question. Every detail seemed familiar, some more, some less. He certainly remembered the scar above Connor's left eye, remembered the shape of his mouth and the tattoo on his neck. Some things were different, his other half looked more haggard than him and had a whole lot more bruises, but everything else felt familiar.

The younger MacManus'd never really had the opportunity to really look at his sibling until now, so he certainly paid extra attention to it . He eventually reached out again so he could place his hand on Connor's arm once more, stroking it and enjoying the heat. At the same time it made his heart ache, and maybe he teared up a bit, simply because he'd been longing for that for _so_ long now. Whenever he'd seen Mike, Samantha and Suzie back at Quabbin Park. After he had lost Simmons. Whenever he had seen the kids back in Augusta, or whenever he had seen Vernon and his group look after each other in Savannah. He'd always been longing for that, a deep connection.

Family.

He'd been longing for this kind of love. And now he had it. He wasn't alone in this fucked up world. Shot in the head or not.  
He'd go through all that shit again, he'd rather get shot in the head and have Connor than be perfectly fine but without him.

After battling with his thoughts for a bit Murphy finally moved closer, shifting and tugging around until there was no space between them and he could bury his face in Connor's chest. He inhaled deeply and was actually surprised how he felt, that he wasn't scared or tense. He instantly relaxed, like this was the place where he belonged and shifted even closer, still wanting to connect. He then exhaled and closed his eyes, just enjoying the kind of embrace and getting used to it again.

He couldn't quite explain it, but he felt like he was home, like none of the shit outside mattered right now, like nothing had happened in the first place. Connor suddenly shifted and startled Murphy a bit, but the older of the two just moved and put an arm around his other half's waist. Murphy looked up in surprise only to see that his sibling still wasn't awake. It was like something had told him to react to the sudden touch, to respond and protect, even in his sleep.

_Or maybe he thought that he was Daryl?_

Murphy frowned and shook his head angrily. No, that would be weird and wrong. Connor certainly -wouldn't- hold the guy like that. That was just….no. Without a question. Connor was holding -him-. Murphy relaxed again and closed his eyes, ready to sleep together with his brother. He was slowly dozing off when some noise startled him yet again. Murphy stirred and looked up, rubbing his eyes and staring at the flap of the tent. For a moment there was nothing, but then he could hear it again. The shuffling of leaves, the creaking of branches. Murphy frowned and slowly sat up, careful to free himself from his brother's embrace without actually waking him up. It took him a while, but Murphy eventually managed to get up, peeking out of the tent but without any luck.

There was nothing out there, no walkers, no strangers, and most importantly: still no Daryl. The younger MacManus frowned even more and rubbed his running nose, only to look back inside the tent, back at sleeping Connor. Murphy chewed on his upper lip and did a little pouting face, only to come to the conclusion that he needed to do this.

"Fuck" he muttered and then got up, ready to leave the tent, ready to check out the noises and see where the hell the freaking redneck was.

* * *

**a couple of minutes earlier….**

Daryl was stomping away from the tent, eager to get away from it. Just like Connor he was still out of breath, heart pounding just as fast, face a bit flushed, and still painfully aroused. And this was exactly the reason why he needed to get away, because it was too embarrassing, too fucked up, too complicated to stay with Connor and his stupid brother right now.

Yeah, so maybe it had been a _very long_ while. And yeah, maybe it had felt good and had needed to happen, but this still didn't excuse shit. He walked around in circles, trying to cool off and make sense out of his actions. How pathetic it really was. This wasn't _supposed_ to happen. And even if it was, it wasn't supposed to happen with Connor. With Carol? Yes, maybe. She was a woman. He trusted her. This was the only way to make that shit 'right', but now it was too late, because it had already happened.

With freaking _Connor_.

Out of all people left in this godforsaken world.

He turned around and looked back at the camp, where he could see the fire. He clenched his fists because the sheer sight of it made him more than angry. He turned around and started walking yet again, to get further away from the tent, the fire. It was probably the kid's fault. He tried to keep telling himself. It had been a tough day with Murphy's return and everything. He just didn't want to lose his only real friend simply because of that guy. And maybe he had overreacted. Clung to Connor more than he should because he was too _afraid_ of losing him as well after losing Merle.

The arousal was slowly subsiding, simply because all the terror and embarrassment was buzz kill enough for him. There was no way he was going to do anything physical about it, because this would be way off. Jerking off after nearly freaking _fucking_ your best friend? Nope. Absolutely not. It was almost like he could hear Merle roaring with laughter because he was so pathetic about it, just like back in his teenage years.

_Trust me baby bro, yah ain't ever getting any pussy, not when yah got one of your own. Pathetic. Man up.  
Grow a pair'a balls and freakin use 'em Darylena. That's what they're there for._

Daryl squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head with an angry grunt. No. He was going to wait until he cooled down, take a piss and then do the night watch shift. Walk around. Try to find some walkers, kill them, and not think about anything. That shit was done. He wasn't a pussy. The only reason why he was like this right now wasn't because of Connor. Nope. He'd been thinking about Carol. Or any other freaking woman he'd ever seen. Maybe even Merle's porn shit. Yes. This was acceptable. He'd been in a fight with his friend, and then his mind had drifted to that, triggered by the physical contact. If there was some woman around then he would've _used his freaking balls_. (Although he knew perfectly well that he wouldn't have done it there either. Carol, Connor, it didn't matter. He _was_ a pussy about it.) End of discussion.

After walking around for what felt like eternity he'd finally cooled off enough so he could take a piss. He walked over to the nearest tree and tried to think about random shit, more pleasant thoughts like what it had felt like to punch Murphy in the face. Or when he had killed the governor as revenge for his brother's death. Or when he had found Carol, back at the prison, when he'd already thought she was dead.

Daryl slowly relaxed because both the sexual pressure but also the pressure on his bladder found some sort of relief. He'd been out here for about ten to fifteen minutes now, enough time to gain some distance. He was just about to let it go and head back when he could hear the cracking of branches around him, like someone or something was stepping on them. Daryl looked up and then around, eagerly and quickly tugging away his manhood and then grabbing his knife instead. He wanted to curse because he didn't have his crossbow with him. He'd been too lost in thoughts to really pay attention to anything, safety, his surroundings, his weapons, so all he had left was his knife.

For second there was nothing but silence. The occassional rustling of leaves because of the wind, but other than that: nothing. Daryl sighed but still held on to his knife, just in case, and then started walking again, backwards, so he could keep looking around. Seconds of walking like this, and then he ran right into something. The hunter grabbed his knife and turned around with what felt like the speed of light, ready to kill whatever had been lurking behind him.

The thing behind him turned out to be human, male, and Irish.

"Fuck! Watch where yah fuckin going!" Murphy exclaimed and stumbled backwards, staring at Daryl with angry eyes. The hunter relaxed a bit but wouldn't put the knife away, huffing and then shaking his head. He looked past the Irishman, trying to see if Connor was with him, but this wasn't the case. Which made him frown even more. It was still way too weird for him to hear someone else talk with an accent like that, a speech pattern that had once belonged to his friend and his friend only.

Daryl walked past Murphy, bumping into him on purpose and then having another look around because the rustling around them wouldn't stop. But it was too dark out here, he couldn't see anything, just hear.

"Where's your bro, kid?" the hunter asked and earned another angry glare from Murphy for that.

"Stop fuckin callin me kid. How old are ye anyway, 60?" the Irishman growled as an answer and then felt his shoulder with a huff, because Daryl had been quite rough with him.

"Don't go all smartass on me and answer the fuckin question" Daryl countered and glared at Murphy for a moment, only to startle once more when he heard another loud cracking noise. The younger MacManus turned his head as well, curious and also worried because the noise was coming through nonstop now.

"Back at te camp. Inside the tent where ye left him" he answered, for which he earned yet another glare.

Daryl didn't get the chance to say anything to that, or ask what the hell Murphy was doing here anyway, because right then they could hear it. More rustling, more creaking, all around them, emerging from the woods, and then the most problematic noise about it all - groaning and moaning. Both men turned their heads, looking for the source and then they could finally see them- slowly exiting the surrounding woods, staggering towards them like drunken sleepwalkers.

"Shit" Daryl hissed and wanted to start running, back to the camp to get Connor and get the hell away from here, but he was even more shocked to see that the majority of the herd was coming right -from- there. And he wasn't immune to their shit anymore. The hunter widened his eyes in horror and grabbed his knife tighter, cursing himself once again for forgetting his crossbow inside the tent.

"Go get your bro and get the hell away from here. Go back to the highway, wait for me there" he said in a hurry and wouldn't look at Murphy, concentrating way too much on the surrounding _masses_ of walkers around them. It was exactly like back on the other interstate and on Hershel's farm. One herd, united in an undead force, ready to tear everything apart. He held his knife up and then started running, looking for a way out, looking for a possibility to protect himself from hungry, murderous rotting fingers, ready to tear at his flesh.

Not Connor's, not Murphy's, but _his_. Of freaking course. Undead assholes had to turn up right now, right when…he hissed and cursed yet again, stabbing a couple of heads and shoving the undead away who were already slowly closing in on him. He turned his head for a moment to check if there were any walkers right behind him, only to see that Murphy was still standing there, watching the whole scenario unfold with wide eyes.

"Go!" Daryl roared, knowing that although the walkers were slow he still didn't have much time to get away.

Murphy just stood there, watching all the walkers exit the woods, shambling, stumbling and staggering around like a plague. Even after all these months they still terrified him, made his shoulder ache and his heart pound. He knew that they wouldn't attack him but still feared a possible bite, but this wasn't even the most fucked up thing about the whole incident. Just earlier today he had seen the guy manoeuver through a herd just like this without the undead paying much attention to him, but now it obviously looked like they -wanted- to eat him. And judging by the fact that Daryl was suddenly running away things had _obviously_ changed.

He turned his head in panic, to look back at the tent where his brother still slept, but could see the countless walkers over there. He knew that they didn't attack him as well. Connor had told him by the campfire a couple of hours ago. He wouldn't tell him why, but they both seemed to be immune, they were related after all. He couldn't hear his sibling scream, couldn't hear him fight or see the tent shake, so the walkers probably wouldn't hurt him right now, whereas Daryl…. The younger MacManus turned around to look how the hunter was doing. Daryl was already slaying his way through the undead who were still reaching out for him. Getting more and more aggressive by the minute. The guy obviously really needed help right now.

Murphy swallowed hard, mind racing, heart pounding.

So many options right now, so many tasks. He knew that he should still go back to Connor, check on him, make sure he was alright although he probably _was_. He could leave Daryl to the walkers, probably watch him getting eaten alive and enjoy his new freedom, enjoy that he had his sibling all to himself. Except that this was inhumane and evil. And he wasn't like that at all.

Daryl was Connor's _friend_.

Murphy gritted his teeth and then started running, away from the tent and towards running and fighting Daryl.

"Lead 'em away from the camp! We'll make a detour, lead 'em away and get back here! We can outrun 'em!" he shouted and grabbed his own knife to help Daryl kill a couple of walkers. But the noise only made it worse. More and more were swarming the tiny clearance, smelling eatable flesh. Daryl turned his head once again to look at Murphy, who was now running towards him, ignoring his orders completely.

"Are yah stupid! I said go!" he roared and stabbed a particularly ugly walker in the eye. He then shoved him away and started running once again.

"Go back! Yah can't just leave Connor alone back there!" he spat and tried to get away, not only from the walkers but also from Murphy. There was no way he was going to be responsible for the kid during a mess like this, but Murphy seemed to have other plans. He was pretty eager to kill some of the walkers himself, particularly the ones behind Daryl to keep them off his back.

"Then he's gotta get his fuckin arse outta there and help us! CONNOR!" Murphy roared as loud as he could, but drifting further away from the tent, just like Daryl. It didn't take long and he could hear his brother, yelling almost drowned out by the never ending moaning and growling all around them.

"MURPH!"

* * *

_Just like the many times before he was back in Boston, by the car, on the street, facing the harbour as he prepared their stuff to get it out of the trunk. He was busy trying to come up with a plan on how the fuck they were supposed to get to the other side of the channel, but just like the many times before he didn't get to finish the thought, finish this part of the dream._

_A scream._

_He turned around in horror only to see them, countless shuffling corpses, staggering outside the surrounding buildings, exiting the skyscrapers and abandoned cars. Countless walkers, with his brother, right in the middle._

_"OH SHIT!" he could hear him scream, then there were gunshots._

_More and more groaning, an aggressive humming that seemed to fill every street of Boston, closing in on them, surrounding them._   
_And just like the countless times before he started running, towards his brother, to get him out of there, away from there._

_"Murph!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, sprinting and firing bullets at the undead._

_He needed to get his brother away from there._

_Minutes of fighting and making his way through the undead, but it took only one word to let him know that he was too late once again._

_"CONNOR!"_

_When he turned his head in horror he could see him. Murphy - standing right in the middle of the crowd._   
_A walker- right behind him, tearing at his neck, ripping at the skin and making it bleed._

_"NO!"_

_A gunshot, a body that was thrown back and landed hard on the ground._

Connor sat up abruptly, screaming in horror and panting hard. He searched the tent with wide eyes, only to find it empty. He could see the campfire outside, saw the shadow of two figures there. The Irishman let out a loud terrified sigh and buried his face in his hands. It had been a while since he'd last dreamed about that. He gently massaged his temples and tried to calm down, but for some reason he could still hear them. The walkers, the incredible deadly force that had once injured his twin so much and nearly killed him.

It was probably because Murphy was back. That's what he tried to tell himself. Calm himself down. Maybe his brain was still in shock. Processing everything only just now. It was a lot to work his head around after all. He took a deep breath and tried to relax, but for some reason the weird groaning still wouldn't go away. He didn't get to wonder about that, because right then he heard it yet again, only that this time it was real.

"CONNOR!" Murphy was screaming, somewhere behind him, behind the tent, not exactly close to the campsite.  
It was then when he also noticed that there were far more than two silhouettes walking around the campfire, staggering around, stinking and growling.

_Oh shit._

"MURPH!" he answered and grabbed his weapons, stumbling out of the tent to see what was going on.

For a second he couldn't really breathe, because the sight practically equalled the feeling of getting a fist in his face. Countless walkers, staggering around their camp, some of them already catching fire because they had stepped into it. Countless moving corpses, but his twin or best friend were nowhere in sight.

"MURPH!" he shouted yet again, trying to see through the chaos, but there were too many walkers.


	28. On The Run

Daryl was running through the woods, breathing heavily and turning around every couple of seconds. No matter how fast he ran, for some reason the walkers were always right behind him, coming from all sides, trying to get him. But this wasn't even the worst part about the whole thing.

Whenever he turned around he could see that Murphy was still right behind him, zigzagging his way around and trying to stab every walker he could reach. Just seeing the younger MacManus made the hunter grit his teeth, because he seriously didn't get why on earth the kid had decided to go with him instead of his own brother.

Judging by everything Connor had told him both twins had never stayed a day apart before the 'incident' had happened. They had always been together, like they were one person, so seeing Murphy do that just seemed so terribly out of character for the kid. He kind of had an idea why he was doing it though, because it still looked like Murphy didn't like being around Connor after the shot.

The hunter turned his head once more, looking back in the direction where their camp was. Where Connor was. The guy was all by him-freaking-self back there. Immunity or not, walker attacks or not, it wasn't a good idea to leave Connor to himself in the middle of some woods, surrounded by countless undead.

He'd spent a year with the guy and knew that he was smart enough, but his smartness wasn't exactly going to help him in a territory like this. Connor had spent years in the more 'untouched' Irish landscapes as a farmer, but that didn't change anything about the fact that the guy wasn't a very good tracker or survivalist.

He knew that Connor was probably losing his shit right now, out of his mind because he had lost both his sibling and him, and he just knew that the Irishman was going to run off no matter what. Connor wasn't going to stay back at the camp and wait for them to return. He was going to leave and look for them, and there was a pretty high chance that he could get lost during the process. Or even worse - they could keep walking past each other and never find each other again.

After stabbing a walker right in front of him Daryl turned his head once more, glaring at fighting Murphy and clenching his fists. There was no way he was going to be with this MacManus instead of Connor. And even if he did find his friend again, it still meant that he had to look after Murphy until they got back, that he would have to explain every tiny little scratch on the kid later.

He didn't want to be responsible for Murphy, although he knew that the other man was actually three years older than him. Connor had -made- his brother the younger sibling with all his talk, so it was just natural that Murphy felt like a little brother to him as well.

Out of all people. He had to be on the run with Murphy freaking MacManus.

Great.

"Go back t'yah freaking brother! I got it covered!" he yelled yet again, a useless attempt to lose the other man.

Murphy stabbed another walker and ran even faster.

"Aye sure, yer the only fuckin one who could get attacked by those filthy fuckin assholes!" Murphy yelled back and kept running until he was right beside Daryl.

"Do ye even know where ye fuckin goin?"

"I don't need no babysitter yah stupid paddy!" Daryl snapped back, suddenly being painfully reminded of his past with Connor.  
It was exactly like back on the farm. Annoying Irishman who kept following him no matter where he went, asking stupid questions.

 _Jesus fucking Christ, Connor and Murphy really are twins_ , he thought and rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"And I ain't gonna let people get fuckin eaten alive just cos they're too fuckin proud 'n retarded!" Murphy yelled as an answer, which made Daryl snort.

"If someone's gonna get eaten, it's gotta be you little shit! Out of the two of us, yah the one who already got chewed on cos he's too stupid to watch his own ass!"

"Oh fuck ye!" Murphy yelled and suddenly shoved Daryl hard, making him lose his balance, stumble and then fall. They had been running down a shallow hill until now, which only made the fall even worse. The hunter rolled down the hill, not being able to really control his fall at all. Murphy froze in the spot for a second, eyes opened wide and watching the other man crash.

He hadn't intended to make him fall like that, rolling down the hill and _towards_ some of the walkers. For just a moment Murphy couldn't move, heart pounding and thoughts spinning in his head. He was beyond furious, angered by Daryl's words. It had triggered him, making his mind repeat every single one of the few memories he had from that day, getting bit and shot. It still hurt so much that he couldn't put words to it, triggering what felt like demons inside of him, demons who wanted out and punish everybody involved.

That darker, new and strange part of him wanted to make Daryl suffer for these words, leave him here in the woods, on the ground, to the walkers. He could turn around and go back to the camp, back to Connor and leave. Tell him that although he had tried, the walkers had managed to get his friend. That he hadn't been pushed because he was a complete asshole.

Except that he wasn't like that. Murphy gritted his teeth hard and clenched his fists, forcing himself to control his inner demons, thoughts, memories and anger. No. He wasn't like that. And he certainly wasn't like Connor. He wouldn't leave people anywhere, especially when they were probably hurt and most importantly - surrounded by flesh eating monsters.

"Shit" he gasped and grabbed his gun, running down the hill and almost falling himself because he was so eager to get to Daryl in time to save him from the coming small group of walkers. The hunter was already trying to fight the first undead that tried to attack him while he was still lying on the ground. Just when he was about to stab the undead a shot rang through the woods, sending the walker flying off Daryl. The hunter raised his head and looked at Murphy with wide eyes.

"Are yah insane?!" he shouted, because he couldn't believe that the younger MacManus would risk a loud gunshot when they were trying to get _away_ from walkers. But Murphy wouldn't answer, because then he kept pulling the trigger, killing one walker after another until the entire small group of undead dropped to the ground, leaving them alone at last.

Murphy sprinted down the hill and then came to a halt right in front of Daryl, having a quick look around and then putting his gun away.

"We gotta go" the Irishman said, and tried to offer Daryl a hand to get him back up, but the hunter just gave him an angry and hate-filled glare.

"No shit! Didn't nobody tell yah that it's beyond stupid t'fire a gun anywhere near those lamebrains, yah emo freak? You probably made it worse!"

"Shut it! Why do ye think I wanna get te fuck away fram here ye fuckin hillbilly?!" Murphy shouted back and now regretted having saved Daryl from the walkers.

_Good god, how much he heated the freaking guy!_

"Come on!" he roared and then kicked Daryl hard, trying to animate him to take his hand and get back up.

But the hunter just huffed and got up by himself.

"Don't freakin touch me, yah plague" he growled and sorted his clothes while having a quick look around.

"Go fuck yerself" Murphy answered and then started running, because he knew that despite his urge to get into a fight with Daryl they really needed to get away from this place, away from the walkers. The younger of the two men considered running in the other direction to finally get away from Murphy, make a detour and head back to the camp on his own.

But he knew that Connor would kill him for this, knew that they only stood chance of surviving this if they worked together. The hunter crouched down to get his knife back and then followed the younger MacManus with a pissed look on his face.

* * *

"MURPH!" Connor roared for what felt like the millionth time, vocal chords vibrating and aching from the constant volume. He wandered about the woods aimlessly, not straying too far away from the still burning campfire because he knew that there was still a possibility that Murphy and Daryl would return there soon. But he was still more than panicked.

It took a lot to phase him, to truly scare him, but this was his worst case scenario right now. After getting his twin back for only couple of hours he had already lost him again. Just like last year, to a large herd of walkers. And just to make it worse he had lost Daryl on top of that, with Murphy. Which made his worst nightmare terrible reality.

He was all alone.

Like back then.

No Murphy. No Daryl.

"MURPH!" he tried yet again, voice filled with anger, panic, but also desperation. There were still walkers all around him. Trying to leave, but only coming back whenever they heard his voice echo through the surrounding woods. The undead would stagger all around him, searching for the source that made the noise. Noise, that was promising them their prey. But to them it looked and felt like no one alive was with them, no one worth eating, because they still thought the immune older MacManus as one of them.

If their brains were still working then the undead certainly would be confused by what was happening around them, how they could clearly hear a human prey scream but not find anyone. It still freaked Connor out himself, but the fear of getting bitten or eaten alive was nothing compared to the other fear he felt right now, the fear of being alone and losing both his brother and best friend.

"MURPH! DARYL! ANSWER ME!" he roared, slowly getting more and more angry.

He couldn't deal with this shit right now. Not after everything that had happened during the past couple days. Not when his relationship Murphy was -slowly- getting better again, not when his relationship with Daryl had changed so much. He had gone from having absolutely everything - a best friend and the miraculous return of his brother- to having absolutely nothing yet again, and this was too much for him to handle.

He tried to calm himself down, tried to remember that he was the one always staying calm and rational. Murphy was supposed to be the one with the temper. He was the one having explanations and plans all the time. The Irishman tried to turn off his emotional side and take a rational approach. He knew that screaming around wouldn't change anything.

He would just lure all the walkers back to this place, and should Daryl and Murphy return then he might end up putting them in danger because of this. And he certainly didn't want to do that. Connor had a look around the surrounding areas of the camp and tried to come up with all the facts.

Daryl and Murphy were probably together. They had to be. Daryl had left the tent, walked past Murphy, they both had been outside together, not too far away from the camp at all times. They were both smart enough to know that they stood a better chance of surviving if they stuck together. And both Daryl and Murphy had their own respective advantages.

His friend was an expert hunter and tracker. He knew his way around the Georgian woods, knew how to survive and get back to the camp. Preventing Murphy from getting lost in the woods. But Daryl was no longer immune, meaning that he was vulnerable with walkers around. But this was Murphy's advantage, because just like him his brother was also immune to the walkers' attacks. His younger sibling could protect Daryl from the undead. He knew that both his friend and brother couldn't stand each other, but he also knew that both were capable of looking past their hatred to survive.

So far, so good.

But that still didn't keep the bad thoughts at bay. _What if Daryl and Murphy weren't together? What if Murphy couldn't find his way back to the camp? What if Daryl got bit because there were too many walkers? What if he could never find them again?_ So many what ifs were torturing him, which was why he was having a hard time trying to stay calm. He grabbed Daryl's crossbow and walked a bit faster.

He had taken their bags and his friends weapon with him, just in case someone else came across their camp while they were trying to get through this chaos. If he weren't so freaking terrified and nervous he would have enjoyed having his friend's crossbow to play around with, but right now he was far from enjoying anything. Whenever a walker got too close to him he would stab them, to start cleaning out the camp on his own in case the two other men came back.

But once again his mind was telling him something different.

_What if they didn't?_

"MURPH!" he shouted once more, louder than ever.

* * *

**a couple of hours later….**

The sun was slowly rising above them, illuminating the surrounding trees and casting shadows across the forest floor. Murphy and Daryl were still trying to make their way back, but it was going to be a long walk, considering that they had spent far too much time running from and killing walkers. After hours of doing just that they had finally managed to lose the herd, but also their sense of direction to some extend.

Daryl thought that they were on the right track, judging by all the countless footprints around this area, but if he was honest he wasn't -too- sure about it. The fact that he was pissed and in pain wasn't exactly helping, because after all the running around his broken rip was making itself known once more.

But he kept walking, trying not to be to obvious about it because he could feel that Murphy was watching him. The younger MacManus was a bit behind him, keeping an eye out on any other walkers and minding his own business. Daryl hated that the guy was still with him. Even worse - that Murphy had helped him a lot during their run.

Killing walkers, watching his back and keeping all the countless attacks at bay. Daryl hated that he had to admit that he wouldn't have made it on his own, no matter how tough and experienced he really was.

He didn't get why Connor's brother would possibly do that, considering that they absolutely hated each other. And here they were, working together, trying to get back to the one man who pretty much mattered the most to the both of them. And since there was nothing else to do Daryl decided to break the ice first. Because now that Connor wasn't around, he finally got the chance to talk to the kid on his own.

"Can't believe yah made it this far on yah own. Been fightin like a girl" he muttered, his way of starting a conversation and secretly acknowledging the fact that Murphy had been doing a pretty good job this night.

"Fuck you" Murphy just answered, no longer reacting to Daryl's teasing.  
Just like the hunter he was also exhausted from the running, and too lazy to get into a fight now.

There was silence for a pretty long while, as Daryl tried to come up with something to say whereas Murphy brooded. Daryl chewed on his lower lip and kept walking, eyes fixed on the countless footprints on the forest floor. They were walking in the opposite direction, basing their route on the knowledge that the herd had come from their camp. It just had to be the right route, leading them back to camp and hopefully - back to Connor.

The hunter raised his head and looked at the sky, wondering how his friend was doing and whether he was looking for them. He really hoped that Connor wouldn't stray too far away from their camp, so it wouldn't be too hard to find each other again. He seriously just wanted to get out of this shithole, find a car and get back to Woodbury, so he could mind his own business and gain some distance from the twins.

The two of them obviously had a lot to talk about, judging by how Murphy had refused to stay with Connor and go with him instead, the one man he seemed to despise the most right now. Or maybe the brothers had already talked about everything and there was nothing to be prepared for? Oh, how much he wanted that to be true, no matter how much it was going to hurt Connor. He wanted to stay the most important person in the Irishman's life, he wanted everything to go back to normal.

Once again the _certain possibility_ got very interesting. He turned his head a bit and tried to look at Murphy without the other noticing it. They were all alone, deep inside the woods. He had a knife, Murphy had a gun. And he didn't know the kid, and certainly didn't count him as part of their group, their family. Accidents happened all the time.

He could just turn around, murder the kid and leave him here. Tell Connor that he hadn't even seen him, that he had been all on his own. It could be kind of ironic. He knew that he had told his friend multiple times that he didn't blame him for Merle's death. But even after so many weeks had passed he secretly did.

Connor had been the one leaving the prison with his brother. He had been the one returning his bloody injured body.

To this day he really didn't know what had happened. Connor had told him that the Governor had shot Merle. Not him. He had sworn that he was innocent, despite his numerous talk about how he was going to kill Merle prior the 'accident'. Deep deep down Daryl knew that his friend was telling the truth. That despite his religious fanatic beliefs and jealousy he never would've killed Merle.

But still. The grief made him think about doing stupid fucked up things. Like killing Murphy over it and making Connor feel the same pain he had felt when he had lost Merle. An eye for an eye and all that. Just for a moment he placed his hand on his knife, playing with the thought, imagining the bloody murder and actually liking it.

And it was a bit shocking to know that the only thing that held him back right now was the fact that he didn't want to hurt Connor. He couldn't care less about Murphy, but he knew what the kid's death would do to his friend. Had already done to him.

So no murder.

Daryl sighed and let go of the knife, relaxing his muscles and leading Connor's brother through the forest.  
He decided to stop it with the mocking and tried to get to know the younger MacManus instead.  
To maybe fight his inner constant urge to kill the guy.

"So how'd you get outta Boston?" he asked, curious, because he didn't know about that part of the story. Connor had told him everything about the outbreak in Boston, their struggle to get out of there, Murphy's injuries and the apartment, but everything that had happened after that was new territory to both him and Connor, who probably didn't have the guts to ask about that.

"On foot" came the short answer, which made Daryl snort, and maybe even smirk a tiny bit.

Murphy was obviously less chatty than Connor, and a whole lot more spirited. It was weird knowing all that and getting that kind of vibe. Whenever he turned around it got even more clear. The face they kind of shared, the attitude, the temper. For some reason it felt like Murphy was _his_ twin, not Connor's. Like he was the little/big brother he'd never wanted.

"Yah real chatty, aren'tcha" he said, not even getting why the hell he was talking to the kid anyway. Maybe he just wanted to understand the hype, get why Connor would never stop talking about the guy, praising him to the heavens. But so far he really couldn't see the reason, which was why he kept asking questions.

Murphy snorted and glared at Daryl for a moment.

"'s cos I don't fuckin talk ta face stealers" he growled, which made Daryl freeze right on the spot, slowly turning around and looking at Murphy.

" _You_ stole _my_ face, emo kid."

Both men glared at each other, and although the tension was slowly building up between them yet again neither of them would launch themselves into a fight.

"Yeah? Ye fuckin wish. If this was _yer_ face and I had ta wear it, I'd rather fuckin shoot myself than being as godamn fuckin ugly as some dirty redneck!" Murphy snapped and then narrowed his eyes even more.

"Oh wait, yer fuckin boyfriend already did that fer me" he added, not so angry and loud anymore but far more bitter.  
Daryl knew that this wasn't directed at him anymore, but at Connor, and this was enough to make his blood boil.

Murphy walked past him, ready to keep walking, but Daryl wouldn't follow. Or let him leave. Because he had been right just a minute ago. He was all alone with the younger MacManus, Connor wasn't there to fuss over him or hear and see what was going on between them, so he could do and say whatever he wanted, whatever Connor would never do and say.

"He ain't my boyfriend" he snapped, but Murphy kept walking.

"He's your goddamn freakin twin brother you ungrateful little shit" he went on and followed the younger MacManus so he could grab his arm and stop him from walking.

"So yah got shot in yah head. Boo-fuckin-hoo. How old are, yah? 12? We all lost people, got hurt, or nearly killed since this shit started.  
Stop whining about shit that happened a freaking year ago and face it. Yah the lucky one outta yah two!"

Murphy finally stopped walking and turned around to look at Daryl, teeth gritted, lips a harsh pale line and eyes burning with anger.

" _Tha fuck did you just say?_ "

Daryl shifted a bit and glared back at the younger MacManus. And no matter how much he really wanted to punch Murphy in the face, the conversation was actually more important right now. He needed to say it, needed to make the other man understand and tell him all the shit Connor was probably going to keep from him forever otherwise. And not just Murphy made him angry in this very moment, but also his friend, because he couldn't understand why Connor would rather keep suffering and blaming himself instead of confronting his twin with the ugly truth about what _he_ 'd been through because of the incident.

"Yeah, you heard me! All I ever hear ever since we found yah is yap yap yap I was shot yap yap yap I'm such a poor victim. I'm callin bullshit!  
You got any idea what your bro's been through during the past year?"

"Well he ain't the one who got shot by his own brother and had ta find out that he just got fuckin replaced by some illiterate fuckin hillbilly!" Murphy suddenly yelled really loud, channeling his anger and letting out what actually bugged him about the whole thing.

Yeah, he knew that he should stop whining about the headshot, and truth was that he wasn't whining about that at all. The whole being with Daryl for a couple of hours and seeing his face all the time had made him so angry again, because the guy really looked a lot like him and seemed to be getting along with Connor very well, whereas he was too fucked up because he couldn't remember anything.

He hated the guy, hated to know that Connor had been with him the whole year whereas he had been all alone most of the time, with groups, but never with real friends or family. He hated to know that he had been replaced just like that. With a freaking lookalike.

Daryl suddenly moved and shoved the younger MacManus with an angry frown.

"So maybe he shot yah, that's on him. Actually no, even that shit ain't on him. You told 'im t'do it! Yah asked him t'blow your head off. He told me yah forced him into this shit by making him promise. And since the guy's too pussy to break the news for yah, guess I'll have t'do it. _You_ fucked _him_ up that day. Yah the reason the guy constantly tried t'get himself killed. The shit your bro's been through is about ten times worse then your silly little shot. He got shot, too, he fucked himself up in a car crash. He got bit. Twice, in case he didn't tell yah about this as well. And on top of that I had t'cut him from some freaking rope in a stinkin stable t'keep him from offing himself and all that shit's on _you_! If someone's got the right t'whine about getting hurt, it's gotta be him!"

During his entire speech Daryl got louder and louder, the anger suddenly taking over his body and making him lash out. Just like Connor he had kept that shit in all the time, and he was actually beyond relieved that he could finally let go of that. Tell the person responsible for everything what really bugged him and make him understand how incredibly frustrated he really was.

By the fact that Connor wouldn't talk about it, and by the fact how he had been the one having to endure all of this with him for the past year, without really being able to do anything about it. But he could do something about it now, which was exactly what he did.

He shoved Murphy hard so the younger MacManus landed on his ass.

"And if I hear yah whine 'bout that day one more time when your bro's around then I'm gonna stomp yah ass! You should be the one begging on your knees t'be forgiven for all the shit _you_ put _him_ through!"

There was silence after that, and Daryl was actually surprised how heavily he was breathing all of a sudden. His chest was heaving and his heart pumping, so he tried to calm himself down before he might end up actually killing Murphy in his fit of rage. He sorted his clothes instead and then started walking, past the younger MacManus who was still sitting on the ground and staring at him with wide eyes. Murphy did no longer look angry but shocked, but Daryl just ignored him and kept walking.

The Irishman was just sitting there as Daryl's words echoed in his head, repeating themselves over and over again and shocking him even more. He had not known about all this, because Connor hadn't told him yet. Up until now it had been all about him, his injuries, his past year, and he had believed himself to be the most hurt out of the two of them.

But Daryl had told him something different. All the words kept ringing in his head, reminding him of the several dreams he'd had, reminding him of that one particular dream he'd had about a year ago.

Hanging.

He'd been dreaming about that before. How he'd been trying to hang himself.

Back then he'd thought it to be some weird dream, some fucked up way his abused brain used to handle the trauma, but now he had to realize that it had been something else entirely. Connor. That had been Connor in his dream. _Connor's reality_.

He dug his fingers in the dirt, fighting both the incredible anger but also emotional turmoil.  
He swallowed hard and tried to form words, but the shock kept him from that for a moment.

"He… he tried t'kill 'imself?" he finally managed to ask, voice thick with emotion because he was fighting really hard not to start crying or screaming. He was so utterly shocked. Despite all his anger and hurt he'd never wanted anything like this. Punish Connor with silence? Yes. Punish Connor with lack of loving words and deeds? Yes. Maybe even go back to Savannah and part ways? Yes. But never -ever- would he wish for Connor to die as punishment for what he had done a year ago. And yet it sounded like his sibling had tried to do just that to himself.

Although he couldn't remember much his guts told him that this was so terribly terribly wrong, so terribly out of character.  
So maybe Connor had looked a little tired, a little upset and worn out, but he really hadn't looked -that- bad, had he?

Murphy turned his head to look at Daryl, who had stopped walking and looked back down at him. The hunter still didn't look too friendly, but at least he didn't look so angry and full of hatred anymore. He actually looked a bit understanding. The other man folded his arms and nodded, just giving a quiet "Hmhm" as answer. He didn't look as devastated as Murphy, but he also seemed a bit upset by the whole topic.

_Fuck._

_He'd been so childish about everything._ Murphy suddenly wondered if he had made it worse for his sibling with all his talk and pushing away. He'd thought that Connor had been fine, considering that he had found himself a friend in Daryl. But if the hunter really was telling the truth then everything had been different. _He_ was the lucky one.

He had survived a headshot and a bite. And suddenly the not remembering much about it or his past felt like a blessing. Until Simmons told him about Connor he'd been living with nothing but the knowledge of getting shot and surviving it, but his brother had lived with the guilt and knowledge that he had killed his own twin all along.

And Jesus. He suddenly remembered the look on Connor's face when they'd first seen each other again. After the initial shock he had looked so… _happy._ And he had pushed him away all the time. Yelled at him. He remembered Connor's countless attempts to talk to him, be close to him.

 _Can I hold ye, Murph?_ he remembered him ask, and he had let him but not really returned it. Daryl was really right. _He_ was the one who had caused the most trouble, the most pain. And he remembered what Connor had told him about the promise he'd laid on him. The words he must've said a year ago.

 _Shoot me, Connor._ _I'm gonna turn, you gotta do it._

 _We've both seen it before. How it works. We lost Eunice like tha. And the little girl. You'n I both -knew- that as soon as you get bit you die and turn into those fuckin…things. How was I supposed ta know that yer immune, Murph?_ _How_ _? I was sitting next ta you fer hours after that bite. Waiting, praying my lungs out but there was no fuckin answer, no miracle, no solution. Ye wouldn't look at me, answer me, or come back. I was all on my own, in this godfersaken room, with a promise I had ta fuckin keep._ _So I did it._

Connor truly didn't deserve to be blamed. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure what he would've done in a situation like that. If he'd done anything different. And yet he'd kept blaming his sibling all day, accusing him of being a heartless monster, when the truth was different. His own brother had tried to take his own life because of this. Because of _him_. He was the heartless, selfish, fucked up monster here.

"Fuck" he said and shielded his eyes, trying really hard not to burst into tears but losing the fight. He had always been far too emotional and cursed himself for that, but right now he didn't even fucking care anymore. Everything was crashing down on him. His own pain, the memories, but the new painful information that made his soul scream.

So maybe Connor had almost killed him. But he had done the same. He had almost killed his own brother, forced him into _this_. He sobbed hard and tried to fight even more, because it was so embarrassing to cry when Daryl was around, his enemy, although he didn't even know why they were enemies. But there they were again, the redneck's words. Repeating themselves over and over again.

Shot. Car accident. Bitten two times. Trying to get himself killed.

Just because he had asked him to take his life after the bite he had thought to be fatal.

Daryl stood there in front of Murphy, actually surprised by the younger MacManus' sudden reaction. He had expected some sort of angry outburst, maybe a couple of punches or some more yelling, but nothing like this. Murphy was sitting there in front of him, sobbing into his hands, with Daryl's words obviously having hit home. The hunter had meant to hurt the Irishman and snap him out of his state, but if he was honest - he hadn't aimed for -such- a reaction.

 _Oh perfect. Connor was going to give him shit for that later._ He gritted his teeth and moved closer to the younger MacManus, unsure what to do, what to say or how to react. He just watched for a moment and it was obvious that Murphy was trying really hard to hide and stop his tears, but he was still way too emotional about the fact that his brother had tried to harm himself.

Daryl bit his lip when Murphy wouldn't say or do anything, and then decided that it was on him to clean up this mess and get the guy to move if they wanted to get the hell away from here, because even now there was still the constant fear that the walkers could come back.

"Come on. Stop the cryin crap" he said gently and nudged Murphy's shoulder, now no longer sounding angry, he was just a bit annoyed. He was annoyed by the fact that it was so terribly obvious that Connor and Murphy were brothers, because despite their dissimilarity and different temper they were still very much alike.

"I ain't fuckin cryin" Murphy muttered but his voice was shaky, thick and kind of gave it away.

The younger MacManus got up on his own and wiped his eyes with his right forearm, only to stumble past Daryl and start walking on his own.

"Just take me back t'him. Yah know where ta fuckin go, I don'" he added and sniffed, wiping his eyes once more and eager to get away.

Daryl stayed where he was and watched Murphy a second longer. The whole thing had been pretty nasty, mean and pathetic, but he could still feel that maybe he had changed something between the twins. Simply by letting Murphy know the whole, ugly truth. He knew perfectly well that Connor was going to give him shit for this later, and he also knew that he was going to make shit worse between them because of that.

There was no way he and Connor could stay close but at the same time let Connor and Murphy get close again, but just for a moment he didn't care at all. Somebody had to be the man out of the three of them, and since the MacManus twins were always busy moping about he was the only one left to do it.

He let out a gentle sigh and then followed Murphy, slowly catching up and then walking past him so he could have the lead.

They wouldn't talk after that. Wouldn't fight, shove or yell at each other. Murphy was even moodier than before. No longer crying, no longer looking upset or angry, he just ended up being in this strange stage where he wouldn't speak or do anything but walk, an unreadable expression on his face as he stared at his feet. He was obviously lost in thoughts, not really in this world at all. Daryl had noticed that before, the ability of the kid to really be all introverted, quiet and keeping everything to himself.

The hunter knew that Connor would be way different in a situation like this. Constantly talking, playing his act of the ever so cheery, funny and easygoing leprechaun. Trying to fool everyone that he was alright when he really wasn't. But Murphy wasn't like that at all.

His whole emotional range was obvious at all times, and he didn't seem to bother hiding it from anyone. He excluded people in his own way by simply not saying anything, just showing it with gestures and looks. And Daryl finally understood the whole vibe, understood why Connor had always been so protective of Murphy and acted as his big brother.

He seemed innocent.

In a weird kind of way. The hunter knew that the kid could put up one hell of a fight. He knew that he punched more eagerly and harder than his brother and shone with pure fury sometimes. He also knew that Murphy was tough because he had survived injuries that would kill other people, he seemed tough because he seemed to have survived a whole year on his own. Despite those injuries, despite the trauma. Murphy was a survivor, more than Connor. But despite all that he really felt like the younger, more innocent member of the three of them.

And now that the barrier had fallen, now that everything had been said and done between them Daryl felt a bit different about the kid. Back in the old days he would have kept doing his thing, the fighting, the snarling at Murphy and playing all tough, but he had changed a lot since then. Not only because of being with Rick's group, but also a lot because of Connor.

He was calmer now, more understanding, more mature, and less angry. Things had been said, the topic was done for now. Which was why he wouldn't bring it up again, and which was why he wouldn't put up another fight.

He didn't know for how long they just walked back to the camp without saying a word to each other, but it didn't take long until Daryl felt the need to speak up. He raised his hand to animate Murphy to stop walking and then crouched down, examining something hidden in the underbush.

"Careful, someone's been puttin up foothold traps" he informed the younger MacManus and examined the trap closer, carefully grabbing a branch and using it to set it off.

"See?" he said as soon as the trap snapped shut, right in front of them, just inches away from their feet.

Murphy scratched his nose and shrugged.

"Yeah, so? We don't step on 'em we don't got a problem" he muttered and kept walking, this time paying more attention where he put his feet.

"We really are in redneck fuckin territory, aren't we" he kept talking and Daryl got back up, scanning their surroundings with a worried frown. Traps weren't a good sign. Stepping on them were the least of their problems. No. Traps meant people, the worst monsters of the all. He didn't care if they were just friendlies trying to catch something to eat or if they were some fucked up twisted bastards like the countless groups he and Connor had met so far.

"We sure as hell could have a problem" he muttered and then sighed, only to start walking.

He certainly didn't want to wait and find out.

"Come on, move up, watch yah step. Ain't gonna stick around and find out what kinda sick bastard put 'em up" he said and then followed Murphy, walking past him yet again so he could have the lead and look out for any more traps.

* * *

Connor had been searching for them all night, running around, yelling his lungs out and killing countless walkers. And now the sun had risen, but neither Daryl nor Murphy had returned. He was worried sick. Beyond sick. He felt like he could lose his mind any second. _It couldn't take them so long to get back here, could it?_ It didn't take much to outrun a stupid herd of walkers. The undead were slow. The undead were dumb. Daryl and Murphy were both smart and fast, so why the hell weren't they back yet?

The Irishman was searching the entire area around their camp for what felt like the millionth time, shouting their names every now and then, trying to look for clues. Daryl had taught him some tracking and navigating through the woods, but all this knowledge was beyond useless because there were _so many footprints_.

The herd of the undead had destroyed any possible track, any possible lead that could make it easier for him. Every footprint looked the same, he didn't have a clue which one belonged to a walking rotting corpse or which one could belong to Daryl or Murphy.

He was trying really hard to stay calm and be rational about it, wait for them to return, but he was far too hopeless already. He had so many options, so many ideas and plans but didn't know which one he should pick. He could go back to the highway. See if they had made it over there. _But what if they got back to the camp in the mean time? What if they thought he had abandoned it and left again?_ No. He couldn't do that. He needed to stay put. Wait here, the only real meeting point they had left right now.

He cursed this new fucked up world for not providing any means of communication, no mobile phones, no internet, no freaking nothing. There was no way he could communicate with Daryl or Murphy, set up an alternative meeting point, and most importantly -ask if they were alright. Because this was the one thing that bugged him the most about staying back at the camp.

 _What if they were out there? Trapped? Or injured? Waiting for him to come and help them?_ And endless mindgame, leave, stay, leave, stay. He didn't know what to do, so he did the only thing that was somewhat of a compromise. Walk around the camp, stay close enough and keep a constant eye on the smoke. This way he would still be there, but also had the chance to walk around and look for them.

He knew it was dangerous and stupid to be so obvious with the fire. The dark smoke could be seen from miles away, from the highway, making his position known to -everyone- around them. Not just Daryl and Murphy. But he saw no other option, saw it as only way to somewhat communicate with the other two men. Let them know where he was, where they needed to go.

He had used some of the corpses to make that smoke, and even from here the stench was almost unbearable. It smelled of rotten, burning flesh, but at least there was one good thing about it - it would mask them from further walker attacks or animals for now.

He also hated the fact that he didn't have a clock with him. He had no idea how long it had been since he had lost his friend and brother. Whether it had been a whole couple of hours or just one or two. The not knowing anything was driving him insane, making him turn around yet again and walk the route once more.

_Maybe they were back now?_

He started jogging, despite the fact that he was beyond tired and exhausted from all the fighting and worrying so much. The stench got worse and worse the closer he got to the fire, the burning corpses, which caused him to shield his mouth and nose in disgust. But there was some that kept him moving, some thing that animated him to come closer.

Two figures by the tent.

Connor let out a relieved chuckle and stopped shielding his mouth, wanting to call out and cheer. But when he got closer his heart missed a beat.  
There were people, not walkers, but those people weren't Daryl and Murphy. Those were strangers.

"Fuck" he whispered and ducked down, hiding behind a bush, trying to make out who those people were. There weren't just two but three people. One was kneeling by the fire, the other two were checking out the abandoned tent. They were talking to each other but Connor couldn't really understand what they were saying. They didn't exactly look evil or fucked up like the cannibals he and Daryl had encountered earlier this year, but they didn't exactly look too friendly either.

 _Well, shit. Just like he had thought._ The smoke had certainly drawn them in, attracted their attention. And since neither Daryl nor Murphy were back yet he was completely outnumbered, unable to get back to his camp and wait for the other members of his tiny group. _What if Murph and Daryl walked right into them?_ He certainly couldn't risk that.

There could be fights going on, shots could be fired. Those people could be out for their weapons, their supplies. They -could- be bad, and he certainly didn't trust anyone these days. Connor reached for Daryl's crossbow that he still wore around his back, and just for a moment he actually considered simply shooting them. It would save him some time, it would make it a whole lot easier and less dangerous for him.

Except that he didn't work like that. As long as he didn't know whether they were good or evil he couldn't just shoot them.  
Because despite the fact that the world was fucked, his morality and beliefs were still very important to him.

_We do not want your poor, or your hungry. It is your corrupt we claim. It is your evil that will be sought by us._

That's what he and Murphy had once preached, and he needed to stick to that. Those people could just be hungry. Maybe he should just wait back here, keep and eye on them and wait for them to leave their camp alone. He was already preparing himself for a cautious watch shift when his day took a downturn.

"Drop your weapons and put your hands up in the air. Where I can see 'em" a man said right behind him, pressing the muzzle of a gun right against the back of Connor's head.


	29. Trigger

"Check the tent, see if they left any food or medicine" one of the three men by their camp suggested. Connor was reluctantly approaching them, because the man behind him still forced him to walk with his gun, which he pressed to his back. The Irishman looked around their camp with an angry frown, trying to make out Murphy or Daryl somewhere between the surrounding trees or bushes, but neither his sibling nor his friend where in sight.

And he was being forced to be in the middle of a group of strangers that could be dangerous. He honestly didn't trust anyone anymore. Not after everything he'd been through. Which was why he was relatively certain he was going to end up with a bullet in his back or between his eyes if he didn't come up with a plan. Fast.

"Hey, Dan! Look what I found!" the man behind him yelled and startled Connor a bit. He even shoved the older MacManus further towards the group of three men, who were now examining him head to toe with surprised looks on their faces. When Connor and his attacker were close enough they stopped walking, and the Irishman felt terribly surrounded, like a trapped animal. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, trying hard to fight his fear and anger.

He knew that he stood no chance in a fight. One of the guys had a shotgun, one what looked like a rifle, another a machete and the man behind him a handgun. He would get torn to pieces, crippled and cut in halves before he even got the chance to raise a fist. He needed to get out of here somehow. Without fighting. Using just his wits.

Connor carefully looked at each member of the group, examining their faces, their clothes, their gestures and facial expressions. They didn't look too fucked up or evil. They weren't grinning and enjoying the sick situation in which they were outnumbering him. They just seemed surprised, maybe a bit confused by his sheer presence.

The men wore dirty clothes and had dirty faces, but who wasn't dirty these days? Their guns and equipment told Connor that they were probably hunters. Like Daryl. Tough rednecks. Grown up country, living the life in the Georgian woods.

And they were younger than him. Probably in their early to late 20s. The guy behind him looked pretty naïve, boyish even. Only one of them looked somewhat older, about Connor's age. He reacted to the other man's words which suggested that he was 'Dan',and possibly the group's leader. So Connor fixed his gaze on him and waited for him to talk.

"Well, what do we have here?" Dan asked and examined Connor a little closer as well.

He then scratched his chin and pointed behind himself, at the tent.

"This yours?"

Connor's eyes flicked to the tent, considering his options. He knew it would be stupid to lie. He surely was the only living person around this area. Well, if you didn't count Daryl or Murphy. He knew that they weren't going to buy it if he told them no. The camp was too new, the fire still burning and smoking away. It -had- to be his camp.

And if he told them, was honest about it, then maybe he would get a good head start to resolve the whole mess a little more civilized. He swallowed hard and then nodded, using the motion to glance around yet again, searching the surrounding area for the other two members of his group, keeping an eye on the man behind him who was still threatening him with a gun.

"Aye" he just said, because he figured that little information was better than both no information or too much information.

Dan smirked and chuckled gently.

"I see. Irish?" he noticed and Connor nodded once again, still waiting for information on what they wanted.

The leader of the group of strangers walked a bit to the left, looking at the tent once more and then fixing his eyes on Connor's backpack.

"You all on your own?"

Connor tried to stay cool, but once again he felt like he was close to losing it.  
Daryl and Murphy were gone for hours now, lost somewhere in the woods, scared off by the countless undead, so he figured that he really was alone.

"Aye, listen. Let's just be civilized about it, alright? This is yer territory. I get it. I'll just…pack my things and get going. I was just passing through.  
Making my way further west. I think we both know the numbers here, and I ain't looking fer any trouble, alright fellas?"

He really wanted to just walk away, but knew that it would only make things worse. He had his way with words, had managed to get himself and Murphy out of many precarious situations before, so it just had to work out now. Only that this wasn't the old world anymore. Back in the old days laws had put people in place, kept them from doing really fucked up shit in broad daylight. But this was the apocalypse. People killed people a lot these days. Just for the fun of it.

_Fuck. Of course shit like this had to happen the moment he lost Daryl and Murphy._

Dan snorted and moved his rifle, and for a moment Connor thought that he was about to get shot. He was really close to flinching but forced himself not to do that, because this would be a sign of weakness. He just watched the man with clenched fists and relaxed a tiny bit when he saw how the guy put the rifle on his shoulders to carry its weight there.

"Yeah, I suppose" the leader said and there was a small pause that he used to smirk at Connor.  
He then shrugged and raised his arm in a nonchalant manner.

"But that doesn't change anything 'bout the fact that you're in our territory" he said and then pointed at a small hill to their right.

"You came pretty close to our farm. Probably scared all the animals away with your fire and presence. There goes our meal for the family. And that's on you, Irish" he said and kept walking, until he was almost standing right next to Connor. He still wouldn't stop staring at the older MacManus' back, like he was really interested in Daryl's crossbow and the backpack. Connor tried to stay calm, but was already pretty close to lashing out. He didn't like the vibe of the whole situation, that he was completely outnumbered with two guys standing pretty much behind him.

"Sorry, I had no idea. Just like I said. I'll just be going then and leave ye to yer hunt and family."

He then slowly reached down, resting his hand on his hip and revealing the knife he kept there, which his attacker had failed to take from him.

"We don't have ta make this complicated, _do we?"_

It was a careful and slow threat, but he did it nevertheless. The group of men looked surprised. Then some of them laughed, obviously amused by it because they all knew he wasn't really a threat to them, all on his own, with just a knife while they had guns.

But Connor didn't care. Even if he had to die in a couple of minutes, there was no way he was going down without a fight, and he sure as hell would take some of those assholes with him. But Dan just chuckled and then walked back until he was standing right in front of Connor again.

"You're too cute" he said and then shook his head.

He examined Connor once more and then bit his lower lip, as if contemplating something for a while.  
He then nodded and nudged one of the guys next to him.

"You're right. We don't have to make this complicated, buddy. You pay for your mistake and everything's cool, I guess."

"You got a cool crossbow" one of the younger guys said.

He'd been eyeing the weapon the whole time anyway, and it was more than obvious that he wanted it.  
He also seemed to have picked up on something that Connor was only getting just now.

"Hand over all your weapons. Food. Medicine. Whatever's in that bag of yours and we're cool with you trespassing" Dan then said.

The other man who hadn't said anything so far nodded and then pointed at the Irishman's feet.

"And those shoes" he said, which made the other men look at him.

The man shrugged.

"What? I need new ones, we ain't going into town and I ain't gonna wear any of the geek's rotten boots."

Connor just stared at the men for a moment, the words hitting him like a brick wall. And he'd thought that getting killed during a situation like this could be the worst possible thing that could happen, but now it looked like there were things far worse. Did he seriously have to decide what he'd rather have? His life or his dignity? He just kept glaring at the men, eyes piercing them as he tried really hard not to lose it. His finger nails were buried deep inside the flesh of his palms by now, and his teeth hurt from all the pressing them together.

"Ye want me ta drop my fuckin panties fer ye as well while we're at it? Sorry, but there's no fuckin way 'm gonna let ye take my shit, asshole" he snarled because he couldn't believe they would even -suggest- something as fucked up as this. All men looked at him in surprise once again, maybe even acknowledging his courage a bit. Dan snorted and grabbed his rifle from his shoulders.

"Fine, if you wanna make this _complicated_ , be our guest" he said and then made his weapon sharp.

"Might as well shoot you and take your shit this way, if you want it like that. Just don't say we didn't warn you" he said, and lifted his gun a bit, as if to aim it at Connor's chest. The Irishman reacted instantly and reached for his knife, but the man behind him grabbed his arm and kept him from doing just that. But Dan wouldn't shoot either. He glared at Connor with an intense, murderous stare for a moment, only to lower his rifle and burst out laughing.

"The look on your dang face" he said and cackled, nudging the man to his right, still laughing.

"Go on, grab his shit and kick his sorry ass back to the highway."

"Fuck off!" Connor roared and started kicking when he felt how the guy behind him grabbed his backpack and crossbow and ripped it off him. The other guys were coming as well, ready to tackle him to the ground and steal even more of his stuff, but about a second later everything changed drastically. There was a loud gunshot going off somewhere behind him, startling and nearly making his heart stop because he thought that -he- had been shot. He even lost his balance all of the sudden, getting pulled down by the man behind him.

But the shooting wouldn't stop. The other three men were looking around with wide eyes, grabbing their guns and trying to make out the enemy that had attacked them with the element of surprise, but they didn't get the chance to face their attacker. Because then there were three more shots, each hitting the men and sending them flying to the ground.

Connor was lying there with them on the ground, with a hand still grabbing his upper arm tight. He was breathing heavily and then fought the arm off, eager to sit up and feel his back. Everything had happened so fast that he seriously didn't even know if he was injured or not. There was blood on the back of his shirt, but there was no hole in it, and his back didn't hurt. So he figured that the guy behind him had been shot, leading him to the only conclusion…

"CONNOR!" he heard a voice that was unmistakably his twin brother's.

The older MacManus turned around as fast as he could to see where the voice had come from, only to grin like an idiot.  
Murphy and Daryl were there, exiting the woods just now and getting back to the camp.

"Murph!" Connor cheered, beyond relieved because not only his attackers were dead, but also because he had his beloved twin brother back. And his best friend, of course. He was even more surprised when Murphy suddenly came running right at him, tackling him into a hug and nearly sending the both of them flying to the ground. But he managed to absorb the impact, kept them from falling with an awkward huff that pressed all the air out of his lungs.

"Fuck, I thought they was gonna fuckin kill yah!" Murphy roared and hugged him so tight that Connor could barely breathe. The older of the twins was quite surprised, actually. No. _Really_ surprised. Never in a million years would he have expected such a welcome from Murphy, when only a couple of hours ago they had been fighting pretty bad over the shot, when his younger sibling had spent hours upon hours blaming him for nearly killing him. But here Murphy was, his brother, clutching to him and hugging him just like back in the old days, maybe even more extreme.

"Please don't ever get yerself fuckin killed over anything" Murphy even said, a bit quieter this time.  
Which made Connor frown. It was weird hearing the kid say something like that, and he honestly didn't have a clue where all of this was coming from.

"'f course, Murph. We've survived shit that's way worse, didn't we then" he muttered and then stroke his twin's back a bit, frowning even more and then raising his head to look at Daryl. What was the most surprising thing about the whole incident was the fact that it was the hunter who still held the gun in his hand, making it obvious that _he_ had been the one to kill everyone that had tried to rob him. Saving his life and keeping him safe. Once again.

Daryl had made his way over to them by now, crouching down to get his crossbow back. He wouldn't say anything and kept chewing on his lower lip, the usual habit he had when he was trying to hide something like in this case, _jealousy_. Their gazes eventually met as Connor was still hugging Murphy, but the older of the two just fixed his eyes on Daryl and then nodded.

 _Thank you_ , the nod said, and Daryl seemed to get it because he nodded back and then looked down. Just then Murphy let go of Connor because he seemed to feel the sudden urge to kick the bodies of his brother's attackers, cursing all the way through and insulting them, asking them who was so fucked up to rob a man that was all on his own.

Connor used the time his twin was busy with the men to walk over to his friend, who was examining his crossbow with a frown to see if it was damaged. As the older of the two brothers was still walking he would look at Murphy once more, still confused by his previous reaction but also amused by his current one, because despite all their problems and his injuries, he really still seemed to be the old Murphy. Connor smiled a little and then finally concentrated on Daryl.

"Fuck, that was close. You alright?" he asked, which made Daryl look up. Once again the hunter looked slightly pissed, obviously trying to isolate himself once again. He just nodded. Connor only just realized that this was actually the first time the two of them were talking to each other after what had happened last night in the tent, but there was no way he was bringing that up now. But even with that slightly embarrassing topic in the way he didn't really care. He kept walking until he was right in front of Daryl, leaving him no choice to back away when he wrapped his arms around him as well to greet him equally.

Daryl seemed rather surprised by the sudden attack because he automatically flinched a bit, tensed and then tried to get away, but just like any other time Connor wouldn't let him. He clung to the hunter and even buried his face in his shoulder for a bit, relieved that he had his friend back as well, despite all the walkers yesterday. And maybe he really enjoyed their closeness by now.

"Thanks fer looking after him" he muttered and patted Daryl's back, because he was honestly beyond relieved that Murphy was still in one piece.  
He was certain that Daryl had played a big part there, despite the fact that he knew that his brother could look after himself.

"Te fuck happened?" he asked because he was still confused by everything that had happened during their little camping session.

"Kid's been a pain in the ass 's what happened" Daryl just growled as an answer and then successfully managed to free himself, obviously confused by the attention he got despite Murphy being there. Connor chuckled and smirked. "I know. But I wouldn't have it any other way" he answered and then examined Daryl head to toe, making sure that the hunter was alright as well. He then turned his head to check on Murphy, too, because there it was, coming back to life at full force. His protectiveness. His desperate need to make sure his brother was alright, now maybe more than ever.

And he wasn't disappointed by his instincts, because right then he could see it. One of the bastards was still moving, somewhere behind Murphy, out of his line of sight, because his sibling was busy searching the dead men for anything useful like ammo and maybe even cigarettes. And once again it wasn't happening in slow motion like in the countless movies he had watched, no, this one was happening now, fast and almost out of control. The guy with the shotgun was still alive. Raising it, aiming it right at Murphy's back. Connor widened his eyes in pure shock, let go of Daryl and then started running.

"MURPH! WATCH OUT!" he yelled as loud as he could, sprinting to get there in time. Murphy instantly reacted and sprung to the left without even knowing what was going on, instincts kicking in and saving him from getting shot. The shell hit the ground not too far from Murphy, creating a large hole in the ground and revealing the sheer force that could've ripped the younger MacManus' back apart just like that. As Connor kept running Murphy still tried to get away, then a second shot went off but missing him yet again. Seconds later an arrow suddenly flew right by the older twin, nearly hitting him but getting stuck in the injured attacker's lower back instead.

The man yelped loudly and dropped his shotgun as he tried to reach for the thing that had injured him for a second time, but he didn't get to pull it out because right then Connor was already on him. The Irishman fell to his knees and then straddled the man, grabbing his shotgun to pull it out of his grip. Connor then turned the injured around, who was half weeping because of the sheer agony he was in, but the Irishman blacked out completely.

From one second to the next he was filled with that sheer sick and animalistic rage, the hatred he felt for this man after seeing him nearly shoot his brother. Connor was beyond horrified, beyond traumatized by seeing something like this, seeing his past nearly repeat himself. There was no way he was going to lose Murphy a second time, no way he was gonna let the man live who had tried to kill his twin brother.

He grabbed the shotgun and then used its grip to clobber the man, forcing the blunt piece of the gun down over and over again, harder and harder, because his mind and reasoning was out of order for a moment, because the sheer fury and wrath controlled his entire body once again.

And for some reason he just couldn't stop, wanted to beat the man harder and harder, each sickening crunching sound and splatter of blood and bone fragments encouraging him more and more. The man's crying had stopped after the second brutal blow, his nose cracked and fragmented after the third, and soon his whole face turned into nothing but an unrecognizable mass of goo, the blood making a disgusting smacking sound with each impact of the gun grip.

It was a bloody mess, it was beyond sickening and brutal and Connor was aware of that, he just didn't know why he couldn't stop. Maybe it was the sick fear of losing his brother to a gunshot, he tried to explain to himself. Or maybe it was his own sick self-hatred, like he was only channeling all of his frustration and self-blame just now. A man had tried to -shoot- his brother, just like he had shot him, for which he still hated himself more than anything. Since he obviously couldn't punch himself like that and wouldn't do it because it was a sin he had to let it out sooner or later, and now it was later, but at least he could finally do it.

So he wouldn't stop, channeling everything and kept going. He was also aware that Murphy was watching him with wide eyes, unable to do anything, say anything or look away. The man's face soon was completely gone, and Connor knew that sooner or later he would hit the ground if he kept clobbering like that. Then there was that part of his brain that reminded him that this was the second time he was bashing someone's brains in and killing them just because they had -dared- to try to kill Murphy.

It was then when he felt a hand on his shoulder, startling him and making him stop. He flinched and fought the hand off, and it took him a moment to realize that it was Daryl who was trying to get him away, and that his friend was actually talking to him. He was quite surprised by everything, falling back on his ass and dropping the gun as he tried to catch breath, snap out of it and think.

"The guy's dead, man" Daryl said calmly, talking about the obvious.

Connor could finally really see the mess he had made. His hands were bloody, his jeans were soaked in blood, and he could feel that there were droplets in his face as well. He just stared at the bloody, mutilated corpse, saw the clothes and shoes and knew that the guy had been one of the younger of the group. Just like the others. Around his early/mid twenties.

He had practically killed a _kid_. In the most brutal way. He knew that these guys probably never had killed anyone, judging by their reactions earlier. They could've shot him and robbed him, but had decided not to do it. A lesser sin. They had said that they were from a farm. A family. Probably the strongest, the ones to bring food back home. But they had murdered them all, murdered them because of him, and he had made one of those murders as bloody as possible.

But what was the worst part about it all: He _didn't_ care.

He didn't feel guilty. Or bad about it.

He didn't feel anything at all.

Connor raised his head and looked at Murphy, wiping his face and just eyed his twin head to toe.

He didn't care because Murphy was alright. Murphy was safe, protected. With not a hair touched on his head. Much in contrast to his last fuck up in Boston. The difference between that incident and this one right here was that he had acted, had protected his sibling from -any- harm, and this was all that mattered.

He wouldn't listen to Daryl's talk and just got up, sniffing and calmly wiping his face as he used his other hand - the broken one with the tattoo- to get his gun. He looked at the other three remaining bodies, the one he hadn't take care of yet, the ones who had just been shot and would come back as walkers sooner or later.

Walkers. The ones that had bitten Murphy back in Boston. Which meant they were also a threat to his sibling. Which meant that they needed to die.  
He undid the safety of his gun and walked over to the first corpse, slowly, so he could take his time and say it out loud.

" _And shepherds we shall be_ , for thee my Lord for thee" he said and pointed his gun at the first head with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Power hath descended forth from thy hand"

_BAM._

The first bullet, traveling through an already dead brain and staining the ground with blood and brain matter. Connor lowered the gun and then walked over to the next corpse just like before, in a completely calm and relaxed manner. He was aware that both Daryl and Murphy were watching him, maybe a bit shocked by his sudden reaction, maybe speechless, he didn't know and he didn't care. He was doing god's work. He was only protecting his family, the most important bond of them all.

"That our feet may swiftly carry out thy command. We shall flow a river forth to thee"

_BAM._

"And teeming with souls shall it ever be. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti."

_BAM._

One last bullet, destroying a dead brain, drenching the ground with blood even more. And Connor looked at what he had done, the blood bath he had initiated, but he didn't feel sorry, didn't think it wrong. There was never going to be a Boston - part two. No walker was ever going to bite Murphy again, no one was ever going to shoot Murphy ever again, no one was ever going to even touch him. He put the gun away and then grabbed his backpack, ignoring the tent, the still burning fire or his brother and friend, he walked right past everything and headed for the forest, to get back to the highway.

"Let's go back home" was all he said, his voice lacking any sort of emotion.

There was no anger, no cheeriness, no doubt or sadness. He was dangerously calm.

* * *

Despite the fucked up situation they seemed to be lucky. It looked like the men that had tried to rob their camp had come by car, a red pick-up truck that seemed to be a bit loud but was running just fine. Connor, Murphy and Daryl were relieved to see that it was a four seater, which would spare them from having to sit right next to each other in a row for the next one or two hours of driving back to Woodbury.

It wasn't like any of them would express their gratitude, though. After the incident back at the camp no one would really speak or say anything, apart from a couple of organizational things. Just like yesterday no one really got to pick. Connor was the one driving, Daryl was the one sitting shotgun, and Murphy was supposed to sit in the backseat.

No one really knew how long the silence lasted, despite the fact that each man really wanted to say something, needed to get something off his chest. But they were all too proud, all a little too confused by the recent events, all a little too awkward because each topic was beyond complicated and uncomfortable.

For a while each of them just did their individual thing. Daryl basically used the time to stare out of the window, watch the houses, abandoned cars and occasional shuffling corpses pass by, and he would use any given opportunity to look at Connor, wondering what the change in his friend meant, how he was supposed to take it, what he was supposed to do with it.

Murphy, who was sitting right in the middle between the two backseats, would use the time to continuously chew on thumbnail because he was nervous and trying to process everything just as hard. And not only the bloody incident was giving him a headache, he was also trying really hard to come up with any possible thing to do or say to make all his bad talk from yesterday any better.

After Daryl had told him about Connor's suicide attempt with a rope (a fuckin rope, seriously? Always with the fucking rope, even then) there was that constant fear inside of him, that fear of making it worse for his brother and losing him because of that. He knew that Connor wasn't a sissy, he had seen him in action less than an hour ago, but that didn't change anything about the fact that he -knew- and feared it. And his brother's strange reaction to the shotgun accident wasn't exactly helping.

Connor, on the other hand, wouldn't say or do anything, which was the main reason why the other two men freaked out. The Irishman was just driving, staring at the road, window open as he allowed himself to smoke. To calm himself down, to ride on the post-murder bliss, almost like a post-sex cigarette. He knew it was twisted but for some reason he still didn't care, and that freaked even him out. He had used to be all about morality. Killing evil men to make good flourish. Never ever any innocent. Even up until that moment he never would've pulled the trigger or tried to kill all those people unless any of those had tried to physically harm him.

But nearly killing Murphy had been evil enough. Even if they had shot first. From now on everything was justified as long as Murphy was safe.  
God certainly owed him that one. After that fucked up year he certainly deserved to keep his twin safe at all costs.

Even if god made him choose between Murphy and a little freaking girl. Like back in Boston. Murphy always came first. And he knew he couldn't kill himself instead to prevent himself from doing something wrong. Because killing himself would mean hurting Murphy. And he wasn't going to do that. His life had a purpose now. A meaning. A goal, a job. Murphy. Until the day he died. Even if that meant that he would end up in hell. He'd already been there. One year. Eternity in hell would be worth it. Each new second, each minute, each hour, each day, each week, month or year he could be with his sibling. _That_ was going to be worth it.

He'd condemned the world anyway, had he? He'd run from Augusta, prevented a cure.   
He'd even chosen to fuck over all of humanity just to get Murphy back.

Connor took a long drag on his cigarette and then turned his head a bit, first using the rearview mirror to look at Murphy, who was staring back at him with a frown as he kept chewing on his thumb. Despite the whole chewing thing the frown made Murphy look older, a bit like grumpier Daryl. Which made Connor look at his friend, who was just sitting next to him and seemed to be watching him as well.

Yeah. The whole world was fucked. He was _more_ than fucked. So maybe the whole thing with Daryl wasn't going to be so complicated at all.

_In it for a penny, in it for a pound._

Daryl frowned a bit, not really understanding what the stare was supposed to mean, but Connor just gave him a tiny smirk and then turned his head to take another drag on the cigarette. This was his own private joke, his own private little dare and promise.

Then it was Murphy who finally broke the silence.

"So…where tha fuck are we going?" he asked, actual interest showing in his voice. The younger MacManus seriously didn't know how he was supposed to picture it. Woodbury. Connor had said it was a town, but that didn't exactly make Murphy feel any more comfortable. Towns usually meant fucked up, dangerous people. Whenever he'd set foot in a town or a city it had ended up all bloody, with people getting murdered, overrun or robbed. Not to talk about the countless walkers. So really, he didn't get why Connor would want to take him there.

"Woodbury. 's a town. South of Atlanta" Daryl muttered, voice lacking interest or sincerity.  
Once again it was obvious that Murphy annoyed him, but at least he wasn't trying to put up a fight.

However, Connor seemed far more optimistic and interested in telling Murphy about their town.

"Yer gonna like it, Murph. They even got a dvd player and a fuckin pool table. All we gotta get now 's a couple 'a beers and it'll be almost like back at Doc's. Could even throw a belated birthday party fer us, like back in the old times. Minus the pizza."

Murphy just listened. He couldn't remember 'Doc'. Nor could he remember their actual birthday and traditions. But he refrained from telling Connor about it.  
Maybe later. In private. When they all had calmed down from the forest incident.

"I fuckin miss pizza" Connor muttered and sighed, reminding Daryl once more and making the hunter look at his friend. He thought it was pretty fucked up, how Connor be like this, talk about random shit like pizza when he had just murdered a bunch of people in cold blood less than an hour ago. But here he was, talking about movies, booze and food, like this was all that mattered about their town. Daryl kept glaring at Connor, but would talk to Murphy then.

"We got walls, cars, electricity and running hot water. 24 hour patrols, heavy armoury, regular supply runs and even a school for the kids. Not to mention that we got a great, experienced group with a good cop as leader. Don't worry" he said and then turned his head to look at Murphy.

"You'll be safe there, kid."

Murphy snorted.

"Don't need fuckin walls ta protect me" he protested, for which he earned a worried glance from Connor.  
Murphy sighed and then looked out of the window, avoiding that gaze or Daryl in general.

"I'm better off with a beer."

"That's the spirit, brother!" Connor cheered, looking in the rearview mirror once more to make eye contact with Murphy. The whole situation felt a bit forced, a bit out of place and really inappropriate after the kill in the forest and after their past in Boston, but despite everything, despite the fact that this was the apocalypse and so many things had gone wrong, hurt and were beyond repairable Murphy still had to smile when they looked at each other.

It was an honest smile, an amused smile and maybe even an excited smile because now he really wanted to see this Woodbury place, which seemed to be even better than any of the other hideouts he'd ever been in during the past year. They wouldn't stop looking at each other to a point where Murphy almost feared they could crash, but his sibling looked so happy that even his eyes with the wrinkles around them were smiling, so he really didn't have no other choice but respond to that.

And the smile turned into a reluctant and shy grin, but it was still an honest one.

After almost one year of being miserable, Murphy MacManus really grinned for the first time.


	30. Return

They had thought that their return would be easier. Connor had expected some ups and downs. Like Rick and the others being mad at them for disappearing for a couple of weeks. He had expected a little pissed welcome, not a hearty one, but the actual one they saw right now was so far from their expectations that they couldn't really believe it.

They had stopped their car half a mile down the road that led to their part of former abandoned Woodbury, staring at what was awaiting them with wide eyes. Murphy had used to time to shift forward, leaning both his elbows on Connor's and Daryl's seats as he tried to make out the town his brother had kept talking about. Or more like, what was _keeping_ him from seeing the town his brother had been talking about.

"Woah" he muttered and chewed on his fingernails, not really liking or understanding what he saw.

"Fuck" Connor muttered and leaned forward as well, resting both his arms on the steering wheel and just staring at the mess in front of him.

"Shit" Daryl agreed and examined the whole scene through narrowed eyes.

For a moment it was silent inside the car as all three men tried to led it sink in, then it was Connor who first tried to do something about it. He reached for his sibling and nudged him, still making him flinch but ignoring it just now.

"Murph, gimme the binoculars. They're in me bag" he ordered and there was a tiny part of Murphy that wanted to rebel, tell him to get the fucking things himself if he wanted them because he wasn't his butler, but then decided to just do as he was told. He searched Connor's bag and then found them after a while, eagerly handing them over because he wanted to know what was going on.

"Check if there's any walls down" Daryl suggested and leaned forward as well, as if trying to see anything without the binoculars.

Murphy turned his head to look at his brother's friend.

"Ye think they got overrun when you were gone?" he asked but Daryl wouldn't answer, because he had gone back to pretending that Murphy didn't exist. Connor narrowed his eyes and leaned forward once more, looking like he had found something.

"Nah, I think they're doing good! I think that's Andrea 'n Tyreese on top of th'bus. They're just keeping an eye on 'em."

'Them' where countless walkers that were piling up on their walls, reaching out for their friends that were keeping watch.  
He could see countless bloody figures, some of them trying to shake the wall and destroy it, others just staring up at their possible prey with dead, wide eyes.

"Fuck. 's gotta be hundreds!" Connor exclaimed and then let go of the binoculars with a sigh, so he could rub his tired eyes and shake his head. This didn't look good. Not at all. He suddenly felt extremely guilty for leaving their group on their own, no matter how many people really were inside Woodbury.

He certainly could've helped them with his immunity, finally making it worth -something-. The Irishman really hoped that they were doing okay over there, that the walls had not given in so far or even worse - that they were completely trapped and running low on food and ammunition.

He took a deep breath and suddenly reached for the door, opening it abruptly and getting out.

"Hey, where you going?" "Te fuck yer gonna do now?" both Daryl and Murphy asked at the same time, looking at Connor in surprise who was checking his guns and knife with that 'I'm busy' kind of look on his face.

"'m gonna walk ahead. Ask Andrea and Ty what's going on, maybe clear us a path ta get back inside" the Irishman said matter of factly and looked up in the direction of their part of the town, once again facing the large herd that was piling up on the walls. And maybe he swallowed a bit because the sight freaked him out. He automatically reached for his left lower arm and squeezed tightly, wrapping his palm around the 'U' shaped scar that was there, reminding himself that he had been bitten before and was uninteresting for them.

_Your infection is far too advanced. Way too far from what we call a 'normal' infection. The bites resulted in the complete transformation of the make up of your blood. Your system adapted itself to the virus' characteristics. My latest tests show that a permanent adjustment to this new state of being is very likely. Permanent protection. Permanent masking._

That's what Smith had told him in Augusta.

So he was safe. Much in contrast to Daryl. Or maybe even Murphy.

"Hey, you ain't going alone" "I wanna come with ye" Daryl and Murphy said, once again at the same time, making them look at each other with angry frowns. But before they got to say something or get out of the car Connor already spoke up and gave them an angry glare.

"No. 'm going alone. Daryl, ye gotta keep an eye out on strays and watch the car. You'n I both know that it'd be suicide fer ye ta walk right up to them when yer…"

The hunter snorted and wouldn't let him finish.

"But for yah it ain't suicide t'do this shit on your own? Bull…"

"Just shut te fuck up and listen t'me, alright!" Connor spat, surprising Daryl a bit and then making him snort once more. The hunter threw his hands in the air and looked away whilst shaking his head.

"Fine, go get yahself killed then, psycho" he growled and the topic was done for him.

The Irishman looked at him for a bit longer, maybe regretting his sudden outburst a bit, but then just closed the car door and started walking with a pissed and muttered 'Jesus'.

Although it hurt he tried -not- to awkwardly limp away from the car. His ankle was still twisted from his jump down the building in Augusta a couple of days ago. It wasn't too bad anymore, but it still hurt every time the foot hit the ground. But he wouldn't give in, show weakness after a speech like this so he kept walking, heading for the wall. He didn't get too far, because right then he heard one of the car's doors shut.

He turned around, ready to yell at Daryl for being so stupid. All the more did it surprise him when he suddenly saw that it was -Murphy- who came jogging after him. Daryl was still sitting inside the pickup truck, watching them through the window with that extremely pissed and jealous look on his face once again. Connor just stood there and waited for his twin, only slowly processing the fact that he was coming after him, running right AT the mob of undead.

"Te fuck you think yer doing?" Connor asked and approached his brother, eager to shove him back towards the car with an angry frown. Murphy tried to fight his hands off and pointed at the walkers.

"I'm gonna help ye, these fucks don't attack m…"

"Get back inside the fuckin car!" Connor suddenly yelled and shoved his sibling hard, which made Murphy stumble and nearly fall on his ass.

The older MacManus looked at his brother with wide, terrified eyes, his breathing already going harder. He couldn't believe that Murphy wanted to join him on such a possibly -dangerous- mission, and there was no way he was ever going to put him in danger again. And certainly not close to walkers, the very beings who had fucked both of them up in the first place and initiated that bloodbath in Boston that he still had nightmares about even to this day.

Murphy looked rather surprised by Connor's sudden outburst, because he had expected him to be happy about the fact that he was following him and willing to help. The sudden almost violent touch and shove had startled him, maybe even scared him and made him tremble a bit because he still actually feared Connor deep down after the headshot, but it was that exact touch and reaction to it that just made him angry.

"Fuck ye!" he roared and tried to launch himself at Connor, managing to punch him in his belly once before his sibling shoved him once again, back towards the car, and this time he really stumbled and fell because of the sheer force of that shove.

"I said ye fuckin stay here!" Connor snapped but then regret flashed across his face, because he hadn't meant to shove his twin -that- hard. He pointed at Murphy and tried to calm down, speaking with a lower voice this time.

"They already bit ye once. And 'm not gonna let 'em do that again. Aye, I know, they don't attack ye because of that bite but we don't have ta fuckin strain our luck. Because I got bit once and attacked again afterwards. Only after the second bite I can be -relatively- sure they won't attack me, but we can't say the same fuckin thing about you. Cos if we run at 'em and they attack ye, then this is on fuckin me again and I ain't gonna ever let that happen again. Do ye fuckin hear me?"

Murphy just stared back at him, gritting his teeth and hatred showing in his eyes. The shove had obviously triggered that hatred again, that rebellious soul and temper, but despite all that the younger MacManus still seemed to understand. He just didn't like it. Not at all.

Yes, he was happy by now to see Connor and have him back. Yes, he regretted that Connor had tried to kill himself because of him. But that still didn't change anything about the fact that he hated his sibling just for a moment. Because of his sudden harshness, his uber-protectiveness, the way he was treating him like a child when they were the same freaking age.

But he decided to not put up yet another fight, he just punished Connor with -that- stare.

His sibling looked back at him for a while, regret showing more and more until he bit his lip and then offered him a hand to help him back up.

"Just…stay back and look after Daryl fer me, will ye? 's too dangerous fer the fella ta be around so many fuckin walkers. He's not like us."

Murphy just glared at the hand and then at Connor, only to huff and get back up on his own.

"Go fuck yerself" he just growled and then put his hands in his jeans, to walk back to the car, now obviously huffy. Connor just watched his sibling leave and let out a tired sigh while slowly moving his healthy hand through his hair. He hadn't meant to screw it up like this, handle it like this, but he just wanted to keep Murphy safe, protect him from any possible danger after the Boston dilemma, no matter how fucked up that made him.

He then turned around and tried to focus on the task, blend everything out and just concentrate on the walkers. The closer he got the better he could see Andrea and Ty walk up and down the school busses they used as walls, and he started waving with his arms and walk a straight line, trying to signal them that he wasn't a walker but a friendly.

He was pretty sure that they had seen him, the car, and Murphy by now anyway. All he needed to do now was get close enough so he could hear them, talk to them, ask what happened and get a better look at how things were going by the wall.

The closer he got to it the more he also had to fight the urge to gag, groaning and shielding his mouth and nose for a bit. No matter how many months he had spent around those rotting walking corpses, he feared that he would never get used to their stench. Because it just added up when they were walking around in masses, making it almost unbearable and hard to keep in the few stomach contents he still had inside of him.

"Andrea! Ty!" he yelled when he thought that he was close enough, waving with his arms and trying to get their attention. He only got the attention of a couple of walkers at first, making them turn around and stare at him with wide, dead eyes and drooling, bloody mouths. Even now it still sent a shiver down the Irishman's spine. He didn't like their attention at all. Immunity or not. Some of them even staggered in his direction, sniffing and searching, but never really focusing on him 100 per cent.

Connor still grabbed his knife and held it ready to kill, just in case, because he certainly didn't fancy getting bit for a third time after giving Murphy that big speech.  
He didn't have to keep yelling, because right then Andrea answered.

"Connor?! Is that you?" she yelled and he started to jog. "Aye!" he answered, smiling a bit but having a hard time getting closer to the walkers. Two of them even bumped in to him, still attracted by the noise he was making, which -forced- him to kill them. Once he was done and the walkers dropped dead to the ground he fixed his eyes on the two members of his group, who were looking down at him with wide eyes.

"Where have you been?!" the blonde woman asked and stopped pointing her rifle at him.  
Tyreese was just looking at him with wide eyes, constantly switching back and forth between his position and that of the countless walkers below.

"How…How is this possible?" he asked in shock, obviously referring to the fact that the walkers wouldn't really attack Connor, and how only a couple of them would stagger in his direction. It was just then when the Irishman remembered that the majority of their town still didn't know about his immunity, his 'abilities', that he had kept them from them on purpose.

Only his 'main group' knew about it, including Andrea. But now Tyreese seemed to know it, too, and it wasn't like he could change anything about that now. Connor concentrated on Andrea instead, shoving a couple of walkers away and killing another one.

"Long story! But…what te fuck happened here?" he asked and pointed at the herd in front of him, slowly getting started on trying to thin them out so he didn't just have to stand there.

"They just keep on coming! They're piling up on all walls!" Andrea answered and then looked around, only to frown.

"Where's Daryl?"

Connor pointed behind himself.

"Still back there!" he said and had to think for a second. He then decided not to tell them about Murphy just yet and kept talking "We got a car, but…" he then scanned the wall and walkers once more. "How te fuck are we sapposed t'get back inside with this fuckin mess goin on here?!"

He couldn't picture just driving up here and making them open up the gate after one risky distraction maneuver. They couldn't risk opening the gate without having to fear the walkers swarm it and overrun the place. But he didn't have to ponder on that, because Andrea already had the answer. She pointed to her right and his left, at the houses there.

"There's a building by the East side of the town, there aren't too many of them back there. We use it to get in an out with ladders! I'll tell them to let you in!" she said and then handed Tyreese her rifle. "Here, take this…" she said and then looked back, behind the wall where their town was.

"Rick!" she shouted and waited for a moment, only to keep talking when people seemed to have come. "Connor and Daryl are back!" she shouted and the Irishman just watched her for a second longer, only to decide that he might as well go back in the mean time to actually get his friend over there.

"'m gonna go get 'im! East side ye say?" he made sure and Tyreese nodded. He answered for Andrea whilst pointing there yet again.

"Just take Sunnydale road and keep driving! There's a former second-hand shop, can't miss it! They'll come get to you!"

"Alright, see ye in a minute!" Connor answered and then turned around to start jogging back, ignoring the pain in his ankle and trying to go faster. He was beyond excited to get back inside Woodbury, to see everyone, tell them about Murphy and introduce him to their new family.

He wasn't too surprised when he saw that Murphy was still outside their car, sitting on its hood and blowing smoke rings in the air with an angry frown. Daryl was still _inside_ the car, fiddling about with his knife that he used to continuously stab the car's dashboard, dangerously close to where Murphy was sitting.

Almost like he was secretly trying to stab him through the glass. Connor really wanted them to get along but knew that this wasn't going to happen, and it seemed to be a natural reaction for the both of them to just get out of each other's way and pretend that the other didn't exist.

When the Irishman finally got back to his friend and brother he already had trouble walking, not only because of his twisted ankle but also because of his old injury from the car crash last year, but just like before he tried to hide it. Murphy was honestly oblivious to it because he was too busy brooding and being pissed at him for his previous reaction.

But Daryl was watching him with hawk eyes, noticing his problems right away. Connor just walked past Murphy and nudged him with a smile, not only to animate him to get off the car's engine hood but also to make it clear that everything was already forgotten again.

"Come on, let's go" he suggested and Murphy did as he was told, despite his obvious stubbornness and anger.

"What? 'n drive right fuckin inta them? So much fer 'keeping me away fram walkers'" he said sarcastically and walked around the car to get back inside and take the backseat. Connor entered the car as well and slipped behind the wheel, starting the engine and then looking at Daryl for a moment.

"They got a temporary escape route. Using ladders and I imagine rooftops or shit like that. They're gonna come get us inside" he said and then put the car in reverse, to get it away from the walkers and closer to Sunnydale road which they had passed on their way here.

Daryl frowned.

"What, 'n we're gonna do that by driving _away_?"

Connor rolled his eyes with an annoyed headshake.

"They set shit up over at Sunnydale road. East side. Andrea said that all the walls are too crowded ta do shit like that" Connor answered and then steered their car into a backyard, so he could turn it around and drive back. Daryl wouldn't stop looking at him, now that Woodbury was no longer in sight and he didn't have anything to look at apart from brooding Murphy in the rearview mirror.

"What 'bout the others? Rick? Glenn? Maggie?" he asked and carefully added "Carol?" after a moment, for which he already earned a mischievous smirk from Connor.

"Don't worry, 'm sure yer girlfriend's gonna be just fine. Like Rick and the others."

Before Daryl got the chance to answer Murphy interrupted them with a snort.

"Girlfriend?" he asked and eyed Daryl, only to look at Connor.

"Who'd fuck someone as filthy as this guy?" he asked and ignored Daryl on purpose for a moment. The remark made Daryl clench his fists and Connor smirk, not only because his friend's reaction and his brother's teasing amused him, but also because there was some fucked up secret answer to this, after what had happened last night. And he thanked god that Murphy didn't have a clue about that. He certainly wanted it to stay that way. But his precious twin brother wouldn't stop, because then he finally looked at Daryl and leaned in.

"Oh wait, she your sister? Heard yah rednecks are inta this shit…" he teased even more, sending Daryl over the edge and making him turn around.

"She ain't my freakin sister yah little shit, and even if she was,'s still better than yah sheep-fuckin, bible-banging micks!" he roared and tried to punch Murphy, not only because his constant stereotyping offended him, but also because he was way too embarrassed by the fact that both MacManus twins were discussing his sex life.

Or more like, the lack thereof. So he tried to climb back and punch Murphy in the face to channel his anger and hatred for the guy, and it made him even more furious when his friend's brother just started laughing.

Connor was way too shocked by the sound to step in. He raised his head and had a look into the rear view mirror, to see if his ears were playing tricks on him, but there Murphy was, dodging Daryl's blows and maybe throwing a lazy punch himself, but he was laughing while doing this.

Murphy was _laughing._

He couldn't even really remember the last time he had honestly heard Murphy laugh. Even way before the apocalypse. Probably before Da's death. He was so shocked that he could do nothing but stare, almost causing yet another accident. He couldn't keep Daryl from trying to get to his sibling just yet, he just listened to the sound, in ave, in shock, in sheer astonishment.

So many fucked up things had happened to his brother. Things he didn't even know about yet. The world was nothing but a shithole these days. Depressing, dangerous, with death and walking corpses surrounding them. Then there were their personal problems. The new ones. The broken bond, the lost trust. But despite all that Murphy could still do that. Be himself. Be so incredibly spirited. Angry one second, moody and depressed the next, brutal after that, only to get back to being carefree and happy. Laughing. From one second to the next.

When things were slowly getting more brutal between his sibling and friend and Murphy slowly stopped laughing and got angrier and angrier Connor could finally step in. He reached for Daryl and grabbed his muscular arm to pull him away from his brother, trying to calm the both of them down and make them stop fighting.

"Alright, just stop it, the two of ye, alright!" he demanded with his louder 'authoritative' voice until he successfully managed to pull Daryl back in his seat.

"We're almost there, fuckin behave. Ye can punch each other all ye want as soon as we're back inside" he said but knew that he wasn't going to keep that promise. They were driving down Sunnydale road by now, getting closer and closer to their destination as they watched the houses to their right. He could already see a small group of people on top of one of the roofs ahead and smiled. There they were - Glenn, Maggie, Rick, Carol. Even Michonne.

They had made it. They had escaped Augusta. Escaped Savannah.  
And most importantly: he was bringing Murphy _home._

Daryl looked at the small group on the roof as well and had to smirk a little bit, especially when he saw Rick and Carol, but the smirk wouldn't stay there for too long. It made him happy to see them all, safe and sound, but at the same time it only reminded him of one thing: the fact that one person was missing up there. He'd been doing fine until now, but now that he was facing his old group again it came back with such a force that it seemed to suffocate him.

One person was missing up there, one person who wouldn't welcome him home and make him feel relieved about the fact he was back.

Merle wasn't with them. Merle was still _dead_.

"Those yer people?" he heard Murphy ask and clenched his fists and gritted his teeth even more, because that voice only made it worse.  
His brother was dead, never going to talk to him ever again, whereas Connor got to bring his twin back home, talk to him, be with him from now on.

It wasn't _fair_.


End file.
